


This is the Ghost Story

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: You Make Me Feel  Like I Am Home Again [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes' Ridiculous Moose Hoodie, Care and Feeding of Feral Winter Soldiers, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author is Hopelessly Self-Indulgent, They Get Hugs Goddamnit, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: You can't have amnesia if you're not supposed to remember.("I don't want to forget you," Bucky says wistfully.Steve looks half-asleep, but he blinks and lifts his head. "What do you mean?" he asks. His smile is puzzled. "Why would you forget me?""After maintenance,  when they'll wipe me and put me in Cryo," Bucky explains. "I'll forget you again, and I don't want to. You're the best handler I've ever had.")





	1. Exit, Pursued by a Bear

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Unwritten Book of Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468393) by [Bond_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bond_Girl/pseuds/Bond_Girl). 



> I feel the need to explain why I wrote this.
> 
> I started this story the day after my sister and nibling went home after a really wonderful visit. I was sad, and writing completely self-indulgent Bucky H/C fic seemed like a great way to make myself feel better. At the time.
> 
> Roughly three days and over 10,000 words later, I remembered that pretty much every single fic I've ever written out of self-indulgence has ended up an angst-filled epic. 
> 
> [Kotik](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5049607) was written, essentially, for no better reason than I really, really liked the idea of Bucky as a [Neko Boy](http://gacha.nosdn.127.net/cf32cb4b35f24f45b3c30a0a1966f9e5.jpeg?imageView). I can't even remember now how I even discovered Neko Boys in the first place. Fast forward to nearly 60,000 words and a series....  
> [Write it on the Skyline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4596525) happened because I saw a video and really, really wanted a story with Bucky as an angel.  
> I wrote [Only With the Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2623505) because I thought it'd be a great challenge to take a crack crossover seriously. It's one of the angstiest fics I've ever written, and the longest.  
> And [The Good Monster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9178846/chapters/20833807) was kind of because I loved the idea of Bucky with soft fur and horns.
> 
> I need to stop indulging myself, clearly. But I hope you enjoy this example of it. ♥
> 
> **Look! There is now beautiful art of[Bucky in a hoodie (though not the Ridiculous Moose Hoodie)](https://don-t-be-evil.tumblr.com/post/165840072209/cause-i-couldnt-stop-thinking-about-bucky-in-a) by [Don't Be Evil](https://don-t-be-evil.tumblr.com). Isn't it amazing? Please go give them lots of notes so they'll know it's amazing!**
> 
> * * *

He wakes up hot everywhere except his shoulders and head. He's aching all over, especially his head, and dizzy. He's soaking wet, and something very heavy is lying on him.

 _Cryo,_ he thinks. But, no. He's outside, and most of him is far too hot for ice. The reason parts of him are cold is because he's on his back on rocky ground and it's pouring rain.

There's a huge…robot…bear? Lying on him, muzzle so close its nose is touching his chin.

It's a black bear, or mostly one. It's front legs and chest are metal, similar to his arm. They glisten under the rain.

He uses his left arm to heave the robot bear's corpse off of him and sits up. The movement causes a rush of vertigo and he has to hold himself very still and breathe through his nose so he doesn't throw up. When he can lift his head he touches the back of his skull with the fingers of his flesh hand. They come away bloody. He lets the rain wash the blood away, looking around. He and the bear are at the bottom of a steep ravine, with a river behind him. His rifle is gone, though he can feel a distinct line of pain where it was hanging across his back. He can't see it when he looks around.

It's not difficult to piece together what happened: He was fighting the robot bear. The robot bear lunged at him and they both tumbled down the side of the ravine. He aches because he must be bruised from the fall. He takes a few deep, experimental breaths, but the telltale pain in his ribs isn't incapacitating. His abdomen is tender where most of the bear's weight landed on him, but he's not allowed to remove his armor in the field so he'll have to wait to see the extent of the bruising. He can wiggle his toes in his boots and his knees bend without too much pain when he tries. So his worst injury must be a concussion, something he's sure of when he sees one of his knives sticking out of the bear's flesh-and-blood eye, but has no memory of stabbing it.

He doesn't remember this mission. It might have been neutralizing the bear, or the bear might have been an obstacle to the actual objective. He feels a prickle of unease. He hates not knowing what's expected of him, because it makes it easier to fail. But they don't always tell him what he's supposed to do beforehand. Sometimes his handlers prefer giving him the relevant information in bits and pieces as he goes along. It's not his place to question.

He'll find out what else may be required of him soon enough, but first he has to get back to his handler.

He pulls his knife out of the dead bear's eye, wipes the blade clean on its wet fur and re-sheathes it, then takes a breath to steel himself, and stands.

The instant he's on his feet he's hit with a wave of dizziness and pain. He was expecting that though, so he just rides it out, breathing slowly until he doesn't feel so much like he's going to throw up or pass out. He starts walking, going slowly because of his head. Climbing out of the ravine will be difficult, especially with the rain, but he's done more with worse injuries. (He's sure of that, even though he doesn't know why he's sure of it. He can't remember worse injuries; he just knows he's had them.) 

Climbing out is very, very difficult.

It's slow going. He has to stop several times to rest until the world stops spinning, and his chest hurts every time he raises his arms. He loses his grip on the mud-slick stone a few times, once nearly sliding all the way back down. He's covered with mud and trembling with pain and fatigue by the time he finally pulls himself up onto level ground, and allows himself to lie there a minute with his eyes closed, just breathing. The ceaseless rain hits him like tiny, icy hammers all over his back. It hurts. Everything hurts.

That's when he hears the shouting.

_Bucky! Bucky! Can you hear me?_  
_Bucky! C'mon, buddy, where are you?_  
_Winter Soldier! Report!_

He doesn't know who's missing, but the woman is shouting for him, so he pushes himself up to his knees and then to his feet. Yelling back is a little beyond him at the moment, and normally his handlers want him to be silent in the field anyway. So instead of replying he walks in the direction of her voice. She sounds familiar. All the voices do. He must have worked with this team before.

He feels…comfortable, going towards them, which is interesting. Normally he has no opinion about the people assigned to work with him at all.

A missile shaped like a gold and red manikin swoops in from above the tree line.

He draws his sidearm, planting his feet so he won't sway with the suddenness of his own motion. He holds the gun in both hands to make sure his aim is still good. Keeping his eyes on the missile makes him dizzier, but he can shoot it down if he has to.

"Whoa!" The missile changes position so that its feet are hovering above the ground and its hands are raised non-threateningly. "Hey, Brownielocks, I'm not going to steal your porridge. Please don't shoot me."

Is 'Brownielocks' his codename for this mission?

He lowers his gun, realizing that this flying manikin must be part of his team. He wonders, briefly, if it's a robot like the bear, until it lands and the faceplate flips up. It's not a robot but a robot suit, protecting a man with black hair and dark brown eyes. The man's face is as familiar as his voice, in a way that sets…Brownielocks…unexpectedly at ease. It's unusual, this familiarity. He must have worked with this man several times, to still recognize him.

"I found our Exit-Pursued-By-A-Bear!" the man crows. There are only the two of them, so it must be over a radio. "Yeah, he seems mostly okay." He gives Brownielocks (which is a stupid codename, but he must use what he's given) a once-over with his eyes. "Well, he's filthy and kind of giving me a thousand-yard stare, but he's on his feet. Oh, he pulled his gun on me, but to be fair I startled him." He waits, listening. "You know he hates that. Fine. If he kills me, I'm blaming you." 

He clomps closer, "Seriously, though, are you okay? You look okay, but you'd probably insist you were fine if one of the cybears had ripped your arm off."

'Okay' means he's being asked about his physical wellbeing. "I'm okay." If he weren't, he'd be incapacitated.

His teammate sighs. "I knew you were going to say that." He steps closer, spreading his arms. "C'mon, Ötzi, hop up. I'll give you a lift."

'Ötzi' is a much better codename than Brownielocks. He dutifully lets his teammate pick him up, closing his eyes at the blast of wind and nauseating motion when the suit carries them both into the air.

"No grouchy, sarcastic comment? Now I'm worried you're dying."

"I'm not dying."

"You'd better not be, Bucko. I have plans this weekend." They land and Ötzi's teammate sets him carefully on his feet. Ötzi (Bucko?) wants to ask him why he keeps getting different codenames, but then he opens his eyes and has to hold onto his teammate until the world stops spinning. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes." He always heals, if given enough time.

They are, Bucko realizes once he can keep his eyes open, surrounded by the corpses of at least a dozen cybears. Each one has a different set of body parts that were replaced with deadly robot versions. For most of them, it's their legs. Some have huge, widely-hinged jaws like snakes, glittering with fangs. One has quills instead of fur. Bucko feels badly for them. It wasn't their fault that they were made into weapons like this.

He glances at his own metal arm, shimmering under the ceaseless rain. He doesn't remember if he chose that or not. He wonders if his handler for this mission would tell him, or just have him put in the Chair if he asked. Most questions get him put in the Chair. Bucko keeps his mouth shut.

A small but formidable redheaded woman, hair streaming, a blond with a bow and quiver and a much larger blond in a suit of blue, white and red with a round shield on his back come trotting up. He has the same immediate sense of familiarity with them as with the teammate in the robot suit. Maybe they're all actually his handlers? Bucko doesn't think he's ever had more than two handlers at a time, but he can't think of another reason he'd feel this comfortable with them.

 _Safe,_ he thinks, which is strange. Handlers don't protect him, it's the other way around.

"Wow, you look like shit," the one with the bow says cheerfully, shaking rain out of his hair. "Next time you get chased by a bear-bot, go up a fucking tree."

"I fell down a ravine," Bucko says. He almost itemizes his suspected injuries, but at the last second he keeps silent. He doesn't know for sure if they're his handlers, even if he was told to report. He doesn't want to go to Medical to have his injuries tended. Even though he can't remember what Medical _is_ , just the thought of it is so terrifying that he'd rather drop dead than have to face it.

He's fairly certain he's managed to hide his injuries before; he just can't remember how that turned out. 

"Oh my God, Bucky," the large blond handler says, and suddenly he knows for certain that _Bucky_ is his real codename. It feels right. Not that his opinion matters, but…it feels right. He's content with it.

'Content' isn't the right word, but he doesn't know what would be. It's close enough.

His handler sounds only partially relieved, which makes sense. Bucky knows how valuable he is. His team would probably be punished severely for allowing him to be killed in the field. "I'm still functional," he says, because he doesn't want to worry him.

"Don't make jokes," the blond says, and then he takes his shield off its harness and drops it on the sodden ground. He strides forward and pulls Bucky to him, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

It hurts, because of his ribs and back and the way his head spins when the blond pulls him hard against his chest, but that's not why Bucky freezes. He doesn't understand what this means. He doesn't know what a joke is, but he wasn't allowed to make one. Is he about to get slammed to the ground for his insubordination? It's an inefficient hold for that, but Bucky knows better than to break free. If he's being punished he deserves it, and any resistance just makes it worse.

But he's not slammed to the ground. He's just held there, trapped against his handler's chest. His body is very warm, despite the rain. He puts his head on Bucky's shoulder like he's injured, but he seemed perfectly fine. He just won't let go.

Slowly, tentatively, Bucky lifts his arms and places them across his handler's back. The man sighs and relaxes a little, as if that was something he was waiting for.

"I was really scared, Bucky," he says. "I saw you run deeper into the woods with the bear chasing you, but I was too far to help. And then you just…vanished. We couldn't find you, and you weren't answering your radio, and I thought…." He swallows, pushes his face against Bucky's neck. "I was really scared," he repeats, whispering.

The punishment for letting him be incapacitated must be _terrible,_ if his handler was this afraid. "I'm all right, you don't have to worry," Bucky says. "I'm sorry I ran off. I won't do it again."

"Don't apologize," the redhead tells him. "You saved my life." She comes close and puts her hand on the back of his head. Her touch is solid but light, not forcing him to move. "Thank you, James."

'James' feels almost as right as 'Bucky', but he's completely baffled that she'd thank him. "It's my job to protect you," he says to her. Maybe these handlers are all new to the field, since they don't seem to know how to do anything the way he's used to. Maybe he was supposed to be training them? He's trained others before, so it's not impossible. Except, then why does he feel like he's already worked with them many times?

His head hurts too much to figure it out. He just wishes he'd been told the mission parameters; it would have made things easier.

She smirks. "Well, thank you for doing your job, then. I guess we're even now." She pulls her hand back, then blinks at the diluted red stain on her fingertips. "Bucky, what the fuck?"

The blond lets go of him and steps back. Bucky misses his warmth instantly. "Are you injured? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm fine," Bucky says quickly. Too quickly, if the way his handlers look at him are any indication. He doesn't repeat that he's still functional, because that's a joke he's not supposed to make.

"Bucky," the blond says. He doesn't sound worried anymore. He sounds angry.

Bucky's heart pounds in fear, making his head pound in time with it. He retreats a step and puts his hands behind his back. He wants to insist he's fine—he is; he'll heal—but he knows his handler won't believe him. The punishment for compounding a lie will be even more terrible than whatever's going to happen to him now.

His handler steps forward. "Tell me where you're injured. Now."

"Likely concussion, multiple contusions, probable cracked ribs, possibly sprained knee. Internal bleeding will need to be verified, but likely minor," Bucky says immediately. He pauses, mentally itemizing. "And my left arm has mud in it."

The handler (teammate?) in the robot suit smirks. "You don't need to be an asshole about it, HAL."

More codenames. Bucky ignores them, standing at rigid attention and keeping his eyes on the blond handler instead. He doesn't want to be punished. He doesn't want to have to go to Medical. He wants to be held in his handler's arms again. He wants the woman to touch his head so gently and smile at him.

The Winter Soldier never gets what he wants.

"I'm a lot more concerned about the concussion and internal bleeding," the blond snaps at the one in the robot suit. "Come on," he says to Bucky. "You're getting checked out. Back at the Tower or the closest hospital. Your choice."

The Winter Soldier doesn't get choices either, so he stays still and quiet, clasping his hands to his wrists behind his back to control his trembling.

"Damn it, Buck," his handler snaps, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Uh, just a guess, Steve, but I think it's falling down a ravine with a bear on top of him," the bowman says.

The redhead quietly disentangles Bucky's hands, which he of course lets her do without protest. "You've got to be in a lot of pain, and I know how easy it is to…revert, when that happens." She glances at the handler in the suit, giving him a small smile. "We're all stupid when we're hurting. But if you use your frontal lobe instead of your hindbrain, you'll remember that you're safe. We won't let anyone hurt you."

The blond—Steve. His name is Steve. That feels like vital information—swears softly and grimaces, dropping his head and rubbing the back of his neck. Then he comes closer and Bucky prepares himself for a blow, but all Steve does is put his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should've thought of that instead of getting angry. I'm just scared, Buck. Please, let me make sure you're not badly injured? Natasha's right. No one is going to hurt you. I swear it."

Bucky knows two of their names now, but Natasha and Steve are both lying. He wonders why they're bothering, since he always remembers how much Medical hurts. He's supposed to remember. It's an incentive to keep himself from getting injured.

But for whatever reason, they want him to pretend they're telling the truth. So he says, "I believe you." It's worth it when Steve smiles.

He lets Natasha lead him through the forest by the hand, and then into a quinjet. She goes to the cockpit. Steve straps Bucky in as if Bucky's never done this before, then gets a blanket and tucks it around him. Bucky's still blinking in confusion at the blanket when Steve sits beside him instead of at the front of the plane.

Steve fastens his own belt, then puts his arm across Bucky's shoulders and tells Natasha it's okay to take off. "Is this all right?" he asks Bucky, "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's all right," Bucky says obediently. It hurts a lot, actually, just like being wrapped in Steve's arms did. But also just like that, Bucky still doesn't want Steve to move.

Steve smiles at him. "It's okay if you want to go to sleep. We won't be in the air that long."

Bucky's battered and exhausted. He really wants to sleep, but he's not allowed to on missions. He remembers other handlers cuffing his head, yanking his hair, backhanding him if he let his eyes shut for too long. Their faces are nothing but blurs, but that rule and the punishments for breaking it are indelible.

"I'm not supposed to sleep," he says carefully. If he's supposed to be training these handlers then Steve has to learn the rules. But Bucky doesn't want to contradict Steve, and he especially doesn't want Steve to change his mind.

But, "I know," Steve says. "I'll wake you up in three hours, all right?"

 _Three hours_ sounds like unbelievable luxury. Normally he doesn't get more than four per night. And for his handler to take the time and effort to wake him…?

"Thank you," he says softly. Steve's generosity is astonishing.

"Anytime, Buck." Steve tugs him a little closer, then touches his lips to the wet hair at Bucky's temple. Bucky's so shocked he doesn't react to it, or to Steve gently angling Bucky's head so it's resting on Steve's shoulder. "I'm right here, Bucky," he says quietly. "Go to sleep."

That, finally, is a perfectly recognizable direct order. Bucky closes his eyes.


	2. Undercover, Pretending to be Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It occurs to him, suddenly, that this Medical is an undercover op, and that's why the nurse is referring to him by yet another designation. 'Sergeant Barnes' is about as familiar as 'James'. It's likely he's used it several times before._
> 
> _Nurse Trevino must think he he's human. That would certainly explain all the smiles and lack of fear. Bucky wonders what the purpose of pretending to be a human here is._
> 
> _But if he's supposed to be undercover, he needs to keep up the façade. He loosens his posture a bit, copying Steve. Trying to act like a person would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's been so kind to comment and leave kudos on the first chapter. I am honored that you all were willing to check out my ridiculous self-indulgence, and absolutely delighted that so many of you seemed to enjoy it! I hope you enjoy chapter two. ♥

Steve holds Bucky's hand as he leads him through the sliding doors into the main part of the Medical suite. He's held Bucky's left hand since they got off the quinjet. Bucky's arm must have been upgraded, since he doesn't remember being able to feel pressure, temperature and sensation with the weapon arm as well as the flesh and blood. He didn't notice in the field, but it's impossible to miss now. He keeps rubbing his thumb back and forth along the back of Steve's hand, just to feel the warmth and softness of his skin. It helps distract him for a couple minutes from where they're going and why.

Steve grins at him, then squeezes Bucky's hand a little, as if what Bucky's doing makes him happy.

Bucky's still dizzy and his body still aches from the fall, but he's sure that he doesn't need to be here. He just wants to get clean, have some food if and sleep, if he's allowed. Maybe if he's good he'll get that after. Unless he'll just go to maintenance, then the Chair and Cryo.

He wishes he knew. He wishes he could ask. But he remembers enough to know he gets punished if he asks too many questions.

The upgrades in his arm are good, though.

* * *

Medical feels familiar, just like the people he fought the bears with. Except, it's not the right one.

 _Medical,_ The Medical Bucky is always brought to, is a sparse, cold room. The walls are cracked, white tile, or dull metal or pitted concrete. Sometimes that's where the Chair is too. If it's the same room with the Chair, he's supposed to sit in it while they examine him. It makes it easier to do the maintenance on his arm and then wipe him afterwards. If there's no Chair, then he's strapped to the examination table. No one talks to him. Everything they do hurts.

But the place in the Tower that Steve calls the Medical Suite is open and full of light. The walls are a shade of yellow that reminds him of the sunlight streaming through the windows. It's warm.

Bucky has no idea what he's doing here.

The technician—her badge says her last name is Trevino and that she's a nurse, which is interesting; Medical doesn't normally have nurses—is very short with black hair and dark eyes. She's carrying a tablet and is good at hiding her fear, since she says, "Hi, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes!" as if she's happy to see them. "Agent Romanov radioed in saying that you took a bad fall and have some injuries we need to look at, especially your head. How are you feeling?"

It takes Bucky a moment to realize she's speaking to _him._ That not only is he 'Sergeant Barnes' here, but that she wants him to answer the question.

"I'm fine," he says automatically. He glances at Steve and doesn't add that he's still functional.

"Bucky…." Steve sighs, and gives the nurse a thin smile, like he's apologizing.

Bucky has no idea why that answer is so unacceptable. Would his handler prefer him to be incapacitated? Normally all that matters is whether he can still fight. He can definitely still fight.

"How about we get you set up in an exam room, and then you can tell me what's hurting, all right?" Nurse Trevino says.

That must be where the real Medical is. It's not 'all right'. Bucky doesn't want to go. This is where he'll be strapped down and hurt. But Steve follows the nurse, and even if Bucky had a choice about following Steve, his handler is still holding his hand. Bucky won't let go before Steve does.

He goes with Steve, breathing slowly and carefully to hide his fear.

The room looks oddly harmless. There are three chairs, a counter with cupboards and a sink, and an exam table covered with a long sheet of paper. The table is padded and he can't see any straps. He wonders what they'll drug him with to keep him compliant, since they can't hold him down. If he's lucky it will make him sleep, not just helpless. 

There's a curtain behind the solid, fake wood door to the room. It's very large and soft, with yellow flowers on it, attached to a curving rod fixed to the ceiling. The curtain is like a second door, Bucky realizes. If it's pulled across no one can see into the room.

So. He's going to be hurt so badly that the technicians won't want any other personnel to accidently witness it. The room must be soundproof as well. There have to be straps somewhere, then; there are no drugs that have ever kept Bucky unconscious or quiet if the pain was bad enough.

Bucky quietly clenches his right hand, keeps breathing careful and slow. He can't stop or escape what's going to happen. He can only endure it. _It's just pain. I know pain. I'm used to it,_ he thinks. It helps a little.

"All right, Sergeant Barnes," Nurse Trenvio says. She's looking at Bucky with her tablet ready, stylus poised in her other hand. "Tell me where it hurts."

Bucky just stares at her. He doesn't know what to say. "Everywhere," he says finally, because he can't think of anything else. Medical procedures always hurt everywhere, every time.

He must have said the wrong thing again, because Nurse Trevino winces. "I'm sure it does," she says. She sounds sympathetic, which he doesn't understand. "But, can you be more precise?"

"Just tell her what you told me, so she can help," Steve says.

Bucky's not going to be _helped._ He doesn't understand why Steve is persisting with that lie, but he suppresses the flare of anger. His handler might really be in training; Steve might not actually know. Bucky takes a breath and follows Steve's order, itemizing his injuries again. He's almost certain five of his ribs are cracked, three on his right side where he landed on his rifle before he lost it, and two on his left. The bruising from the bear isn't as bad as he originally thought it might be, and his knee is sore but serviceable. He's sure his head will be fine, but he obediently tells the nurse about the pain and dizziness. Steve seems pleased with him afterwards, so at least he knows he did that right.

"Wow. Way to be specific, Sergeant. Thanks for making my job easier." Nurse Trevino looks up from her writing to grin at him like he did something unusual but good.

Bucky doesn't know what to answer to that either, so he doesn't. But he returns her smile with a small one of his own. It occurs to him, suddenly, that this Medical is an undercover op, and that's why the nurse is referring to him by yet another designation. 'Sergeant Barnes' is about as familiar as 'James'. It's likely he's used it several times before.

Nurse Trevino must think he he's human. That would certainly explain all the smiles and lack of fear. Bucky wonders what the purpose of pretending to be a human here is.

But if he's supposed to be undercover, he needs to keep up the façade. He loosens his posture a bit, copying Steve. Trying to act like a person would.

Nurse Trevino finishes marking something on her pad, then smiles at him again. "Okay! I'm getting out of your hair now. Dr. Orazow will be with you in just a couple minutes. You can get into the gown while you're waiting." She draws the curtain completely across the doorway and leaves.

Bucky goes still. Why did she draw the curtain if the doctor isn't here yet? Is Steve going to hurt him?

"Here," Steve says. "You're sore. Let me help you with your armor." He lets go of Bucky's hand and reaches for the buckles on his jacket, but jerks his hands back at Bucky's flinch. "Are you okay?"

Bucky forces himself to look at Steve, to calm his breathing again. Bucky is undercover. A human wouldn't be afraid. Steve clearly expects him to stay focused. Keeping that up once the pain starts will be difficult, but not impossible. He has a sense he's done that before.

This could all be part of the mission, then. That makes sense, and he's not being hurt yet. So, "Sure. Just caught me off guard, is all," he says. He smiles the way he imagines Sergeant Barnes would: confident, self-assured, unconcerned and easy. It feels natural, and must work because Steve grins back.

Bucky spreads his arms, ignoring the unpleasant twinges from his injuries. Normally it's the technicians who undress him, but Bucky doesn't mind Steve doing it. Steve's careful, not tugging too hard or shoving Bucky around like a doll. It's unexpected, but kind of him.

Steve is a good handler, Bucky decides, but then remembers the pulled curtain behind him. He can't control the tiny frisson of anger and fear.

Steve's hands stop moving. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not yet," Bucky says.

Steve smirks. "Good to hear. Hopefully I won't."

Bucky says nothing.

Steve keeps wincing at Bucky's injuries, almost touching and then pulling his hands away as if he's worried about hurting him. It's kind, but frustrating. Bucky wishes he could ask Steve to work faster. It's going to hurt _soon,_ even if it doesn't hurt _now_. Bucky just wants to get it over with.

The gown the nurse was talking about isn't a dress, but might as well be one. It will hang nearly to his knees, and attaches with snaps down the side.

"At least your ass won't be hanging out," Steve says.

Bucky's body isn't his; his privacy means nothing. But it is more comfortable, knowing he won't be completely on display. He remembers different technicians, other handlers. Not their expressions, but the way they'd touch him, how it felt. He didn't have any barrier between his body and their hands or eyes. It wasn't comfortable. He doesn't want to go through that again. Maybe this gown means he won't?

"Thank you, for the help," he says softly. He sits on the exam table with his hands clasped on his knees, waiting to be told to lie down, or to just be grabbed or shoved or whatever his handler wants to do with him.

Except Steve…doesn't do anything. He just stands leaning on the sink counter with his hands in his pockets. And smiles.

Bucky tries to smile back, keep up the façade the way he's supposed to. But it's hard when he's waiting for the pain to come. He's opening his mouth to beg Steve to just _start_ already, when there's a knock on the door.

"You can come in," Steve says, then smiles warmly at Bucky. "It's okay. It's just the doc."

Bucky nods, but he can't smile back. He's too scared. _Act human_ , he hisses internally, but it's no good. He can't do it. He can barely control his breathing.

The doctor comes in. Another woman. She's taller than the nurse, but also has black hair and dark eyes. "Good evening, Sergeant," she says. She smiles too, like Nurse Trevino did. Her badge says Dr. Orazow. Bucky can't stand this, all this waiting and the lying smiles.

Except, Steve and Natasha weren't lying. The doctor's smile isn't lying. It doesn't hurt.

She even asks him if he wants Steve to _leave the room_ before she starts, as if Bucky has a choice about it.

He doesn't. Bucky might be undercover, pretending to be human, but that doesn't mean he has a choice about whether his handler stays with him or not. Just like he still has no choice about the medical treatment, or anything at all.

But it's _Steve_ who looks at Bucky's face, and then quietly steps outside the exam room and _closes the door behind him_. Bucky's so astonished that Dr. Orazow asks him if he's all right, and he's pretty sure she even cares about his answer.

She doesn't get mad when he says he's fine.

And the physical exam doesn't hurt. Well, it's uncomfortable, but there's no way it can't be, since palpating bruised flesh and cracked bone isn't pleasant. But he's not drugged or strapped down. Dr. Orazow goes as fast and as gently as possible. She keeps as much of his body covered as she can. She only calls him 'Sergeant Barnes' and even apologizes when it hurts. The curtain with the yellow flowers stays closed, but no one else comes in.

This, he realizes, must be why Bucky was undercover here as Sergeant Barnes. So he'd get treated as if he were human and he wouldn't be hurt.

Did Steve do that? Was pretending Bucky's a person Steve's idea?

It must be Steve. Steve even left the examination room to give Bucky some privacy. No handler has ever done that before. Bucky can't remember much, but he knows that no handler has ever given him privacy before. No handler has ever cared.

Bucky has no idea why Steve would care about him at all, let alone care enough to trick the Medical staff into treating him like a human. Bucky knows he's a valuable asset, that's why he goes to Medical whenever he gets injured. But he doesn't understand what reason Steve has for being kind to him. Steve doesn't need anything from Bucky. It doesn't matter if Bucky trusts him or not; Steve controls him either way.

He doesn't understand it, but he's used to not understanding things. If Bucky needs to know Steve's motivations for anything he does, Steve will tell him.

He'd prefer to understand, but the Winter Soldier never gets what he prefers. Not being hurt is already better than he had any right to expect.

Maybe this means that maintenance won't be so bad either, when it comes. The Chair will be terrible; nothing can change that. But if Medical can be endurable, maintenance could be too.

Bucky allows himself a tiny glimmer of hope. And then the doctor tells him he needs an MRI.

* * *

He tries very, very hard to control his panic. Dr. Orazow is nice, even if it's because she thinks he's a person. He doesn't want her to be punished because of his disobedience. He doesn't want Steve to be punished either. He doesn't want to be assigned another handler who won't put his arms around him, or who'll touch him without caring if it hurts, or who won't say he's allowed to sleep and won't leave the examination room.

Steve hasn't even hurt him on purpose yet, even when he had every right to. Bucky doesn't want either him or the doctor to get in trouble, so he obediently lies down on the patient table so he can be pushed inside.

He closes his eyes and makes sure to keep his breathing steady and slow. But the MRI scanner is a cylinder, no matter how white and clean. And he has to lie still and he can't get out.

He knows this isn't Cryo. He will assuredly be frozen later, once he's healed. But it's not happening now.

It's not happening now. But Bucky can't stop shaking, or the fear sweat soaking through the back of the hospital gown. He can't regulate his breathing or slow the hammering of his heart.

Bucky is prepared to endure it, but Steve makes them stop. Steve pulls Bucky upright and holds him while Bucky clutches him and trembles and tries to breathe. Steve whispers, "It's okay, you're safe, it's okay. You're in Avengers' Tower. No one is going to hurt you." He strokes Bucky's hair and carefully rubs his bruised back, and says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was that bad." And Steve doesn't get angry and he doesn't hurt him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve asks him what feels like a long time later, when Bucky finally has himself back under control. He pushes Bucky's wet hair off his forehead. Steve's smiling, but his eyes look like he really wants to cry. "Why did you let us do that to you?"

Bucky stares at him. He doesn't understand why Steve keeps doing this: treating Bucky so well and then asking him questions he has no hope of answering.

"The doctor said I needed a scan," Bucky says. She said he needed it, Steve wanted him to have it, so he did. That's the reason, right there. But it's obviously not good enough, because Steve's face crumples with disappointment. Bucky doesn't know what he's supposed to say. It'd be easier to concentrate if his head didn't hurt.

"That didn't mean you had to allow it," Steve says. He sounds like he can't believe this is something he has to explain. It's like he's forgotten what Bucky is. Maybe he's the one who needs an MRI.

Bucky doesn't answer because he doesn't know what Steve wants him to say. He stands up, holding onto Steve to keep his balance. He hopes Steve doesn't notice, because he just wants to get out of here. His cell will probably be cold, but right now he doesn't even mind. He knows he'll be fine if he can just sleep for a few hours. All he needs is time to heal.

"Can we go home, please?" he asks, making his voice as deferential as possible.

Steve blinks. "Um, yeah. Sure. I mean, we'll need the doc's permission, but…." He looks worried again. "You'll be okay here, while I go get her? She let us have a couple minutes, but she's just outside the room."

"I promise I won't try to escape," Bucky says solemnly.

Steve gives him a tiny smirk. "Jerk."

Bucky has no idea what Steve's reaction means, or why he seems to be waiting for Bucky to say or do something. Bucky drops his eyes, stays submissive and quiet until Steve lets out a soft breath and finally steps out of the room.

* * *

Dr. Orazow comes back in and examines Bucky's head again, and asks him questions like what's his name, what's the name of the president and what year it is.

"Sergeant James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky," he says, grinning at her because he really, really wants to get out of there and keeping up the pretense that he's human is the best way to do it. He names the president and the year just like he's supposed to, and he's pretty sure he gets it right because the doctor doesn't look more worried than she did when Steve brought her back in. And she lets Bucky get dressed, and leave.

"I'm going to have J.A.R.V.I.S. monitoring your vitals," she says to him. "That way you'll be able to sleep tonight without needing to set an alarm for every two hours. But if your headache gets worse, or you have vision problems, or anything out of the ordinary for a mild concussion, you need to come back here immediately. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, still pretending he's Sergeant Barnes. Jarvis must be one of her technicians. At least monitoring his vitals probably won't hurt.

She smiles back at him, then shakes her head. "Everyone's always so happy when they leave." She hands Steve a list on a laminated paper with _Stark Industries_ written along the top. "If he exhibits any of these symptoms, get him back here immediately. I'm serious," she adds, as if Steve might think she wasn't.

Steve reads everything on the list, because he's a good handler. He nods. "Don't worry. I'll bring him back immediately." He looks at Bucky, concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine," Bucky says.

Hydra wouldn't let anything happen to him, no matter how much he might wish they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'm adding this to say that I do understand that MRIs can't be used on people with metal in their bodies. My headcanon is that Bucky's arm is not magnetic, since that seems like a very bad vulnerability for the Soviet branch of Hydra to have given their best assassin. I'm assuming that the electroshock bomb Black Widow threw at his arm in _The Winter Soldier_ attached via adhesive, since she'd presumably also want to use it on different surfaces, like clothing.**
> 
> **[Another comment](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/119094558) suggests the arm is titanium, which makes sense, since it can stop bullets without apparent damage (my engineer husband also said that steel would be too heavy). There seemed to be indication in _Civil War_ that it could also be vibranium.**
> 
> **Please don't worry about Bucky in the MRI! I only tear my characters apart emotionally. :)**
> 
> * * *
> 
> I've been fortunate enough to never require an MRI or CAT scan, but the research I did for this chapter indicated that, while for many things the two different types of scans are virtually interchangeable, CAT scans are preferable for imaging the brain. However, the (admittedly not exhaustive) anecdotal accounts of brain scans I came across only mentioned MRIs, so that's what I went with.
> 
> I have all of this story written out, except for the last third or so of the final chapter and the epilogue. I have never left a WIP unfinished either, so I promise this story will be completed if you are willing to bear with me. ♥
> 
> [Here is my Tumblr!](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/)


	3. A Question with Only Bad Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve has gone pale like he's been badly injured. His eyes are glistening. He reaches for Bucky's face, but jerks his hand back before his fingers touch. "Bucky," he says in a voice like tumbling gravel, "what's the last thing you remember?"_
> 
> _Bucky stares at him. This is a trick. It must be. Steve knows the last thing Bucky remembers._
> 
> _"I'm not going to hurt you," Steve says again. "I just need to know, please. What's the last thing you remember? The last thing you really remember?"_
> 
> _"Waking up under a bear," Bucky says._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter for everyone this time, which was a happy accident of the word count. I hope you enjoy it. :D I also posted it earlier than I posted chapter two, because I don't know if I'll be able to use the computer much after Thursday this week (I have family visiting until the end of next week), and I want to post as many chapters as possible before then. But again, I promise that this story will be completed! ♥
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave me information on, and their personal experiences with, MRIs. They sound just as horrible as I imagined, even the more spacious ones.

Bucky expects the elevator to go down, drop them into the bowels of the building. Instead they go up, floor after floor until it feels like they'll ascend forever. The motion makes Bucky lightheaded and he presses himself against the wall with his eyes closed, holding onto the rail so he won't float into space.

"We're here," Steve says softly. Bucky hadn't noticed the car stopping.

He opens his eyes, then stares, numbly following Steve into living quarters that are nothing at all like what he expected. They're bright and beautiful, more like an actual house than any place he's ever remembered living. There's a kitchen with colorful mugs in the sink, gleaming wooden floors, comfortable furniture, even a television and shelves of books. The air is warm like Medical, and smells pleasant and clean.

He doesn't remember being here before, but it's familiar too. It feels safe, like his team. Like Steve. But _safe_ is fleeting, and usually a lie. He knows he shouldn't trust it.

Bucky wants to trust it, though. He wants to be safe. He's so tired. 

"Nice to be home, huh?" Steve smiles at him, puts his hand on the back of Bucky's neck. It hurts, but Steve's not trying to, so Bucky just smiles back.

"It's beautiful," he says.

He means it, but Steve laughs. "Tell me about it." He nods at an open door at the end of the hallway. "We both still need to clean up. How about you take our bathroom and I'll take the guest shower?" he says, but then looks worried again. "Unless, do you want me with you? In case….?"

Bucky doesn't know how he's supposed to finish that sentence, so he waits.

"In case you fall over," Steve says.

"I won't fall over."

Steve closes his eyes for a second. "In case your ribs hurt and you need help, then."

Bucky doesn't understand this. Steve doesn't need to ask permission to watch him shower. Bucky has no more right to privacy here than he did in Medical. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, deep as he can without his ribs hurting too badly. "You should do what you think is best, Steve," he says, hoping that might be the correct response.

"I _would_ , if I knew what that was," Steve says, a little testily. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "Please, Buck. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it."

 _I need you to make sense. I need you to stop asking me questions I can't answer and doing things I don't understand._ But if Bucky says any of that he'll be dragged back into the elevator and spat out wherever the Chair is. He wants to avoid that as long as possible. "I would like something to eat, please," he says, in place of everything he can't. He's not really hungry, and normally he wouldn't even dare ask for that much, but Steve is confusing him so badly that it's the only thing he can think of.

He guesses right, because Steve brightens a little, smiling again. "Of course, Buck. Anything in particular?"

Bucky blinks, carefully relaxing his hands instead of clenching them into trembling fists. Handlers don't ask him what he wants to eat. Handler's don't ask him anything except to report on his mission or list his injuries. Why does Steve keep doing this to him? "You choose," he says, then tacks on, "please," because he doesn't give orders either.

"Okay, I can do that," Steve says. "Let's get washed up, and then I'll figure out something to make us for dinner." He turns away, hesitates, then turns back. He puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder, leans in and touches his lips to Bucky's.

It's just a small, soft press of skin to skin, but it feels even better than all of Steve's other gentle touches did. Bucky just stands there with his fingers on his lips, too stunned to move as Steve walks away.

* * *

The shower is large enough for at least three men his size, and the water runs hot if he turns the tap to the left. Bucky moves the tap back and forth with his left hand, holding his right under the spray, fascinated by the change in temperature. The heat is really nice.

He hears Steve's shower start, so he gets into his. He makes the water as hot as he can stand, reveling in the warmth. It feels fantastic on his sore muscles, and his head even feels a bit better when he inhales the steam. He loses track of time, scrubbing all the mud off with the nice-smelling soap until the water finally runs clear down the drain. He's careful not to bend over too much or move his head too fast, but when he turns the water off and steps out, the sudden change of temperature sends him reeling.

He throws his hands out, grabbing for something to keep his balance. His left hand scrabbles at the sink, but he only snaps off a piece of the basin. His teetering equilibrium deserts him completely and he crashes to the floor.

He doesn't hit his head, but that's not even a good thing because if he had, then maybe he'd be unconscious. Instead he's hurting and so scared he doesn't know whether it's the fear or pain that's like a robot bear crushing his lungs.

Steve comes racing in, exactly the way Bucky knew he would. He's half-dressed, with his torso damp and his hair dripping. "Bucky!" Steve drops to his knees beside him, lifting him upright as if Bucky weighs nothing. The room spins around him like a toy. "Oh my God. What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry," Bucky gasps, still trying to breathe. He can't look at him. Lifting his head would be like staring at the sun. His left hand is still clenched around the piece he broke off the sink. He opens his fist and bits of porcelain roll through his fingers. The Winter Soldier takes responsibility for his actions; it's the only thing he's ever owned. "I didn't mean to break it," he says, as if that will make any difference in what happens to him now.

The dryer, cooler air of Steve's home seeps into the bathroom through the wide open door. It was wonderfully warm in the suite before, but now it touches Bucky's wet skin like ice. He shivers.

How much time is left for him, before all he has is freezing cold and ice? How long until his aching skull is pried open with lightning? He knew his fate was unalterable. All he wanted was a chance to postpone it. Now that's gone.

Safety is fleeting. And a lie.

"I don't give a shit about the sink," Steve says. "I'm a hell of a lot more worried about you. Can you look at me, Bucky? Please?"

It's framed as a request, but it's an order. Bucky raises his head. All he can see in Steve's face is concern.

"What happened?" Steve says.

"I fell," Bucky says. "I tried to grab something. I didn't mean to break the sink."

"I know you fell. I meant, what caused it." Steve puts his hands on either side of Bucky's face, staring at his eyes as if he's trying to find something in them. "You've been off ever since you fell down the ravine. I think something's really wrong."

"I'm fine," Bucky says immediately, thinking of sterile, white cylinders; the curtain hiding the room. It wasn't so bad, before, but that means nothing. He doesn't want to go there again.

"Bullshit," Steve snaps. Bucky flinches before he can school himself. At least he doesn't think Steve sees it. "I found you on the goddam floor!"

"I'm hungry," Bucky says. It's not a lie. He hasn't been thinking about it because of the constant, low roil of nausea, but he literally can't remember the last time he ate anything. He does remember what hunger feels like, even if he doesn't know where the memory comes from. He knows he needs a lot of food and that he gets dizzy and weak if he goes too long without it.

He doesn't really want to eat, but he has a feeling he stops wanting to eat when he's actually really hungry. It's also a plausible reason he fell that doesn't mean he has to go back to Medical. And food might help him feel better anyway.

"Oh, fuck," Steve closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose. "God, I'm just not fucking thinking, am I?" Bucky has no idea how to answer that, so it's good when Steve doesn't wait for one. "I'm sorry," Steve says. "I didn't even think about it. I had a couple energy bars in the jet on the way back, but you slept. You didn't eat anything. No wonder you're out of it. Why didn't you say you were too hungry to wait until after your shower?"

It's not Bucky's place to inform his handler when he's hungry; he eats at his handler's discretion. He wouldn't have said anything now, except Steve was demanding an explanation for what happened. But Steve looks so upset. Maybe Bucky made a mistake. He doesn't know. "I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't think about it either. It's not your fault."

"Yeah," Steve says on a sigh. "But, you're not feeling well. I should've been more on the ball. Hang on." He stands and gets a couple of folded towels from the shelf on the other side of the room. He comes back and wraps Bucky in them, then crouches. "I'm going to pick you up. You ready?" He waits a beat. "Bucky? Can I lift you?"

Bucky hadn't responded because he didn't know it was a real question. He nods.

"That's better." Steve sounds relieved. "Thought you'd checked out on me there." He stands again, lifting Bucky like the man in the robot suit did. The way Bucky's supposed to hate but can't remember. "I'm taking you to the bedroom so you can get dressed."

"Okay," Bucky says so Steve won't get worried. Steve carries him into a large room just as sunlit and pleasant as the rest of his quarters, then sets him down on the large bed. The world still goes spinning, but it's slower and doesn't last as long. The bed is surprisingly comfortable.

There are pictures on the walls that look drawn or painted by hand. Bucky recognizes the people he'd fought the robot bears with, but blinks in surprise at the pictures of him. He's dressed like a civilian in both of them. In one he has his arm around the shoulders of a man with dark skin who he didn't see on the mission. They're both laughing. In another it's just him, standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking an enormous trench in the ground. He's almost sure it's the Grand Canyon, but he has no idea why he would've been there.

He knows people sometimes keep pictures of their family or friends, so Steve having those isn't strange. Bucky can't imagine why Steve would want pictures of him as well, but it's nice. It's kind of him. Looking at them makes Bucky content.

Steve brings him underwear, and a pair of pants that are like his, except Steve's are white and Bucky's are grey. They're warm and soft with a drawstring waist. Steve also gives him a white tee-shirt that's soft too. "Do you need help getting these on?"

Bucky shakes his head.

Steve turns his back, giving Bucky privacy again, but he stays close enough to grab him if Bucky falls. Bucky goes slowly and carefully to make sure he doesn't. "I'm ready," he says when he's finished.

Steve turns around, smiles at him, then says, "Just a sec." He goes into what looks like a small, connected room, and returns wearing a blue tee-shirt and holding a hooded shirt in the same material as the pants. It's tan, with a large picture of a moose on the back. The hood has decorations that look like antlers. "I thought you might want the moose hoodie, to keep you warm," Steve says, and hands it to him.

"Thank you." Bucky runs his fingers wonderingly over the soft material. He pulls it on, leaving the hood down so it won't impede his vision. It's very comfortable.

Steve grins at him, though Bucky doesn't miss the worry still clinging around the edges of his eyes. "Come on. I'll help you to the living room." He keeps his hand around Bucky's arm as they walk. "I'll be back in just a bit," he says as soon as Bucky's safely on the couch. "Go ahead and put on a movie or something."

Bucky has no idea what that means, so he just waits, running his hands over the couch arm the way he did over the cloth of the moosehoodie. There are so many soft things here; the indulgence it represents is unimaginable. He shouldn't be here. He hopes Steve doesn't realize that.

The light outside the window is almost gone. The clock says it's nearly 8:30 pm, so it's summer, but it was cold where they fought the bears. Black bears have a very large habitat in North America, but with the weather and the landscape, Bucky's sure they were in Alaska or Northern Canada. He's pleased with himself for figuring it out.

But, it's night now. How long will Bucky be allowed to stay in this wonderful soft place before his handler takes him to be prepared for Cryo, and he loses it forever?

He's distracted from the sad thought when Steve comes back, carrying a plate with eight sandwiches neatly stacked on it and a large glass of milk. He puts both down in front of Bucky on the low table. "Peanut butter and honey," he says, sounding apologetic. "Not fancy, but it's fast."

"Thank you," Bucky says. He was expecting rations. The sandwiches and milk smell delicious. He looks at Steve, unsure if he's allowed to eat, half-certain if he touches it the food will be taken away.

"Go ahead," Steve says, nodding at the plate. "Mine's just in the kitchen."

"Okay." Bucky waits until Steve turns his back to go into the kitchen before he picks up a sandwich and starts eating. He takes a small bite to try it, and discovers that it's _fantastic_. It tastes even better than it smells. He can't remember having anything this good before. He forces himself to keep taking small bites and chew slowly, to savor it. The milk is fantastic too: cold and creamy and rich. It's difficult not to drink it all at once.

He wonders if he'd be given more if he asked for it, and thinks maybe he would. Steve hasn't hurt him on purpose, and didn't punish him for destroying the sink. Steve even gave him soft, warm clothes and wonderful food. Steve is very kind. He's a really good handler.

Steve comes back with his own glass and plate, though he only made six sandwiches for himself. He sees Bucky eating and the way he smiles feels as comfortable and warm as the moosehoodie. Steve sits next to him on the couch, close enough that their bodies are touching. That feels warm and comfortable too. "J.A.R.V.I.S., can you play _Cars_ , please?"

The television, which is huge and so thin Bucky can't understand how it can project anything, instantly lights up into pictures and sound. _Cars_ is apparently an animated film about talking vehicles. The story feels familiar too, like so many other things he's experienced, but it doesn't change how fascinating it is. Bucky finishes eating as he watches, riveted.

Lightning McQueen is a terrible Asset. He's arrogant and rude to the civilians, cruel to his truck teammate, and so defiant of his trainer Doc Hudson that Bucky's surprised they don't kill him. But Lightning makes up for it when he recognizes how kind the other cars are to him, and returns to them instead of staying in California.

Bucky doesn't understand the ending, though. Why would Lightning give up victory for nothing? Bucky's sure the car will be punished by his Rust-eze handlers for disobedience. The fact that everyone seems happier with Lightning's insubordination than Chick's win is baffling.

Bucky wants to ask Steve about that, since by now he's almost certain an unsolicited question won't make Steve angry. But when he surreptitiously glances at Steve to gauge his mood, Steve looks sad.

Bucky blinks, considers, then leans back against the cushions, satisfied. He licks honey off his fingers, thinking about what a good handler Steve is. He obviously knows Lightning will have to be punished for going against his handler's wishes, but Steve is so kind that he's upset about it, even though the story isn't true.

"I still hate that part," Steve says. "It always makes me think of you, every time I see it. And it's so sad."

Oh. That's different. "I'm sorry," Bucky says. He didn't know Steve was sad because of _him_. He wonders unhappily how many times Steve must have been forced to punish him.

"Not your fault," Steve says. He looks at Bucky and smiles. It's still sad, but it's like there's a light in Steve's eyes, shining just on his Asset. "I love you so much," he says.

Bucky knows he's heard those words before. He can't remember what they mean, but he knows he's heard them. And he knows they mean something good. Like the way he doesn't remember Steve but he still feels safe with him. Not just safe. More than that.

Steve is like…Steve is like the way Bucky feels when a mission is over and he's allowed to eat and get clean. His handler is relief and comfort and not being in pain. Steve is good, and nice, and kind. Bucky would do anything to keep him safe. He never wants to be without him.

"I love you so much too," he says, and Steve's smile is incandescent.

Bucky smiles back, and then Steve throws his arm around him. It still hurts, but Bucky doesn't care because Steve is warm and safe. And then Steve kisses Bucky's temple the way he did in the jet, and he can't remember feeling this content, ever. He must have, he thinks, since Steve's been his handler more than once. He just wishes he could remember it.

On the screen there's nothing but music playing and words scrolling up, but Steve doesn't ask Jarvis to do anything about it. He just sits with his arm around Bucky, holding him close. After about a minute Steve puts his hand in Bucky's metal one, lacing their fingers. That feels nice too. Bucky thinks he might be allowed to fall asleep here, thinks vaguely about asking.

The only sad part is that this won't last. He's been here for hours already. He's sure he'll have to go to maintenance in the morning. And then will come the Chair, and then Cryo, and he doesn't know if he'll ever work with Steve again.

"I don't want to forget you," he says wistfully.

Steve looks half-asleep, but he blinks and lifts his head. "What do you mean?" he asks. His smile is puzzled. "Why would you forget me?"

"After maintenance, when they'll wipe me and put me in Cryo," Bucky explains. "I'll forget you again, and I don't want to. You're the best handler I've ever had."

"Bucky?" Steve says his name like it's a question with only bad answers. He lets go of Bucky's hand, then lifts his arm off Bucky's shoulders and moves farther away from him. "What are you talking about?" His eyes are huge. He looks like Bucky's just done something terrible.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says quickly, frantically trying to figure out what he did wrong. He wants to drop to his knees, lower his head and put his hands behind his back. He needs to show Steve the proper penitence, but the table is too close for him to kneel. Bucky won't move Steve's furniture without permission, so he does the closest thing he can and sits up straight with his feet on the floor. He puts his hands behind his back and looks down at his knees. "I'm sorry, sir. I won't do it again."

"Bucky, what's going on? What are you doing?" Steve sounds even more upset. Bucky is ruining everything. "Please, Bucky!" Steve says when Bucky doesn't speak. "Tell me what going on."

Bucky tries, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. He still doesn't know what he did wrong.

Anger trickles through Bucky's heart, beneath the fear. _It's not fair,_ he thinks. But, no. No. His handlers are always fair. It's his fault if he doesn't understand. 

"I'm sorry," Bucky says again. "I'm trying, sir. I really am. But I don't know what you want me to tell you." He swallows, both proud and sick at his boldness.

"Oh, no," Steve whispers. "Oh, no. Bucky, oh, my God."

There's a touch on the back of his neck and Bucky flinches. He expects a painful grip on his nape or a fist in his hair. But all Steve does is pull his hand away. "Bucky." His voice is ragged. He clears his throat then speaks again. "Bucky, look at me. Just, look at me, please. I swear I'm not going to hurt you."

Bucky knows he will be hurt. He bristles inwardly at the lie, but disobeying will only make the punishment worse when it comes. He lifts his head, forces himself to look Steve in the face.

Steve has gone pale like he's been badly injured. His eyes are glistening. He reaches for Bucky's face, but jerks his hand back before his fingers touch. "Bucky," he says in a voice like tumbling gravel, "what's the last thing you remember?"

Bucky stares at him. This is a trick. It must be. Steve knows the last thing Bucky remembers.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Steve says again. "I just need to know, please. What's the last thing you remember? The last thing you really remember?"

"Waking up under a bear," Bucky says.

"Oh, God." Steve puts his hand over his mouth. His eyes are enormous. Then he ducks his head and takes a couple of long, deep breaths before he looks at Bucky again. "What about before that? Is there anything before you woke up in the ravine?"

"No," Bucky says. "I'm sorry," he adds a moment later, because Steve is looking at him like that's the worst thing Bucky could have said. He wracks his brain, but everything before that moment is blank. He thought he'd helped his team complete the objective regardless, but maybe he missed something. He must have missed something, for Steve to be this upset. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better. Please tell me what I should have remembered for the mission."

"It's okay, you don't need to be frightened," Steve says, which is just stupid. Of course Bucky should be afraid. "But…you knew your name."

Bucky stares at him. "You told me my codename is Bucky."

Steve sucks air like he's been hit. "Bucky's not a codename. It's your _name_. Your real name."

That's wrong. He's the Winter Soldier. Hydra's Asset. He doesn't have a name. But his handler's already so disappointed with him that Bucky doesn't try to explain that.

"What about 'Sergeant James Barnes'?" Steve asks, "How did you know that?"

"Natasha called me James. And the doctor called me Sergeant Barnes, so I used it," he says. "Was I supposed to say something else?"

Steve shakes his head quickly. "No. That's your name, Buck. Your name and your military rank." He blinks, then wipes tears out of his eyes with his knuckles. It makes Bucky think of Steve's reaction at the end of the film. Bucky's punishment for this is going to be _awful._

Bucky slowly folds his hands into fists behind his back. _It's just pain,_ he reminds himself. He'll survive whatever's going to happen; he always does.

"How did you know the year?" Steve says.

Bucky blinks. "There was a calendar at the nurse's station."

Steve closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He swallows. "What about the name of the president?"

"The president was on the calendar."

Steve grits his teeth. "Why didn't you tell the doctor you can't remember anything? Why didn't you tell _me?_ "

Bucky drops his head again. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Stop apologizing. You don't have to apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm just trying to…to understand." He sounds so gentle. Bucky wishes he could believe him. "Why didn't you tell us you can't remember anything?"

Bucky can't understand the question, and he can't apologize, so he can't speak at all. He's the Winter Soldier. He has no name. He has no memory. Steve should know this. _Steve should know this._ Steve might as well have asked why Bucky doesn't tell him every time he breathes. It makes no sense. Why is Steve doing this? What does he want from him?

Bucky clenches his jaw. He stays silent, unmoving with his hands behind his back. But he can't stop the tears that blur his vision. He thought Steve was a good handler. He thought Steve was kind. Steve made him delicious food. Steve let him have a shower with hot water and gave him warm, soft clothes. Steve said he wasn't going to hurt him.

Bucky keeps clenching his jaw until it hurts, trying to hold back the tears of devastation, humiliation and rage. He should have known it was a lie. He should have known Steve would betray him.

"Bucky? What is it? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Steve puts one hand on Bucky's back, the other on his nearer shoulder. Bucky wants to shrug him off, but he can't.

"I'm sorry." He was ordered not to apologize, but he can't think of anything else.

"You don't have to apologize. It's okay. You don't have to answer right now. We can save it for later," Steve says, as if that will make anything better. Bucky can already feel the whip on his back, but he still doesn't know what Steve wants him to say. "Come on." The warm pressure disappears as Steve stands. "I'm sorry. I know how much you don't want to go back to the medical suite, but we have to. Dr. Orazow needs to know that something's seriously wrong."

There. There it is, finally. Bucky relaxes. He knows what's going to happen. At last, his handler is making sense.

Maybe they'll force him to have an MRI; maybe not. Regardless, there will be punishment. And then after he heals, maintenance on his arm. And then the Chair, and then Cryo. Pain, and pain, and pain.

At least pain is something he knows.


	4. The Fog of Grisly Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve walks with Bucky to the entrance of the medical suite, where they'll wait while the radiologist looks at the pictures. Neither of them say anything. Steve is sick and seething and terrified. He wants to take Bucky's hand. He doesn't._
> 
> I should have protected you, _Steve thinks. But when has he ever, ever protected him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Next chapter has cookies. Swear to God.

Dr. Orazow orders a CT scan this time, instead of an MRI. It's a lot faster, which might be vital if Bucky's brain injury is getting worse. It also means Bucky doesn't need to change into another gown, or have his whole body in the cylinder either, which Steve hopes will make it easier for him.

Steve holds Bucky's hand while the scan whirrs and takes pictures of Bucky's head. He knows the technician would rather he wasn't in the room, but he doesn't care. Steve's a super soldier; fuck the radiation warnings.

He doesn't know if his being there helps. He hopes it helps. Bucky holds Steve's hand for all he's worth, but for all Steve knows Bucky's just doing what he thinks his handler wants. It's possible that Bucky would rather if Steve wasn't anywhere near him. He knows there's no point in asking.

Bucky stays perfectly still like he's told to, except for the trembling he can't control. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, breathing fast like he's in the grips of a nightmare. Steve counts the seconds and kind of wants to die.

He hadn't noticed. Bucky didn't even remember that _he has a name_ and Steve hadn't noticed a damn thing.

He'd seen that Bucky was off his stride, sure. But any one of them would've been after getting clobbered like that. Except Bucky's not anyone. Bucky is _Bucky._

Steve rewinds everything Bucky said and did, wondering where the clues were. At the time it seemed reasonable for Bucky to have issues with a MRI scanner after the day he'd had, but in retrospect it screams like a warning. Bucky was too quiet, but it'd made sense with the concussion. Bucky had sounded like himself. Just, off. A little bit off. That was all.

Only the more Steve thinks about it, the more he realizes Bucky's jokes weren't Jokes. It wasn't sarcasm, when Bucky was so meticulous listing his injuries. He was just relaying information. He meant it when he told Steve he wasn't trying to escape.

He said _I love you so much too_ because….

Steve doesn't know. Does Bucky have any idea those words even mean? Was he just trying to avoid punishment?

And Steve hugged him. And kissed him, treated Bucky—Bucky's _body_ —the way he always did, because Bucky would tell Steve if he didn't want to be touched. But this isn't Steve's Bucky.

Steve feels sick, sick enough that the world swings and goes green around the edges before he drags enough air into his remorse-shriveled lungs. And then the CT scan is finished after four minutes and _a hundred fucking years_ , and Steve drops Bucky's hand like it's made of knives and yanks the patient table out of the scanner before the technician gets near them.

Bucky sits up immediately but he doesn't reach for Steve, just stays with his head down and his hands clasped on his thighs. His resigned, submissive despair is enraging, which just makes Steve feel guiltier. He knows— _he knows_ —that this isn't Bucky's fault. Steve should've seen Bucky was floundering. He should've paid more attention. He should've forced Bucky to have the MRI scan hours ago, instead of taking him home.

Why the hell didn't Bucky say anything?

 _Fear,_ Steve thinks, and that makes him even angrier, no matter how aware he is of exactly how unreasonable he's being. Bucky doesn't know him from Adam, not really. Bucky has no reason to trust him. Yes, he said Steve was the best handler he'd ever had, but in context that means almost nothing at all.

But Steve's still angry.

He runs his hand over his face, standing to the side as the technician gives Bucky his moose hoodie back and lets him leave. Steve walks with him to the entrance of the medical suite, where they'll wait while the radiologist looks at the pictures. Neither of them say anything. Steve is sick and seething and terrified. He wants to take Bucky's hand. He doesn't.

Bucky hands the moose hoodie to Steve as if it belongs to him.

Steve doesn't take it. "It's not mine, Buck. It's yours. You can wear it if you want to." It's an effort to keep his voice gentle, more of an effort not to hug Bucky the way Steve so badly wants to.

 _I should have protected you,_ Steve thinks. But when has he ever, ever protected him?

Bucky looks at Steve's face, then silently takes the hoodie back. "Thank you," he says, voice quiet. He holds the hoodie in his arms but he doesn't put it on. For a second as he turns away, Steve sees a flash of anger in his eyes.

Steve doesn't know why Bucky's angry, but it doesn't matter. Anger is better than misery and despair. And if Bucky's angry too, maybe that means they're even.

(They will never be even.)

* * *

There's nothing Dr. Orazow can do.

Steve takes the news as calmly as he can. She shows him remarkably beautiful imagery of Bucky's brain, points out things that Steve can't actually discern in all the hues of grey, and tells him that Bucky's healing, he's recovered from much worse than this, and that all they can really give him is rest, a calm, safe environment, and time.

Bucky sits quietly in the doctor's plush office, looking attentive but bewildered. He studies the pictures of the inside of his head as if he needs to memorize them for a mission. He doesn't ask any questions, just kneads the cloth of his hoodie in his hands.

He thanks Dr. Orazow cordially, but stays silent the rest of the way back to their suite. His expression is neutral, but his eyes are distant and dark. He seems to only realize where they are when the elevator car opens, and then he closes his eyes and takes a single deep breath before going in.

"Are you okay, Buck?" Steve asks him.

"I'm fine," Bucky says.

Steve scrubs his face, sick, guilty and angry. He goes closer, reaching to touch him, but pulls his hand back. He won't do that again without Bucky's permission. "I know you're not fine, Bucky," he says. "What's wrong?"

Bucky's breathing speeds up. He draws his lips back from his teeth, his eyes going wild. Steve's about to ask what's wrong _now_ , but in one precise, awful move Bucky lowers himself to his knees. He drops his head and puts his arms behind his back, twisting the hoodie like rope between his hands. He doesn't speak, doesn't move except the tiny, methodic turning of his hands and the vulnerable heaves of his breathing.

Steve wants to scream. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what _Bucky's_ doing, what the hell this is for. The only thing Steve is even remotely sure of is that Bucky must assume he's in trouble.

Steve sits on the floor slowly, no sudden moves. He crosses his legs, then after a moment puts his own hands behind his back, fitting his curved fingers together.

He swallows. He's never been good at this: being soothing or especially calm if it's not in the middle of a fight. This isn't a fight, and he can't think of it like one. Even if Steve's default is to come up swinging.

Bucky isn't his adversary. Steve's anger has no place here. _It's like the helicarrier,_ he thinks. He was glacially calm then. Bucky almost killed him, but in the end he listened.

"Bucky, can you look at me?" Steve asks. "Please, Bucky?"

Bucky hesitates, then lifts his head. His eyes flick from Steve's face to his crossed legs and back, but his expression is nothing but careful, studied neutrality. It can't hide his exhaustion.

"I need you to talk to me, Buck. Please. Please talk to me," Steve's begging; he doesn't care. "I just want to help. Can you please speak to me? Tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm fine, sir," Bucky says.

Steve bites the inside of his lip until the sharp pain cools his frustration. He commands himself to get a fucking grip. Bucky's already in a bad place, he doesn't need Steve there too. "I know you're not fine," he says. Maybe his voice is harsher than it should be, but he can't really do anything about that. "I'm going to ask you questions, and I need you to answer them. Truthfully. I promise—I swear on my mom's life—that no one is going to hurt you. But I don't know what's going on. So can you please talk to me?"

Bucky stays expressionless, except for the uncertain darting of his eyes. "Okay," he says.

"Great. Thank you," Steve says on a sigh. "You can sit more comfortably. If you want."

Bucky blinks at him. He doesn't move. Of course not. The only thing that changes is that his shoulders go still. He's not twisting the hoodie anymore. Does that mean he's more comfortable, or less? There's no way Steve can know. 

Steve holds his own hands more tightly behind his back. "Did you understand what the doctor told us about your brain?"

"Yes," Bucky says. Only his mouth is moving.

"So, you know you've been injured? That you have amnesia?"

Bucky opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. He nods.

"Don't lie to me," Steve doesn't quite snap. "I've known you my whole life. I'm pretty good at telling when you're lying. So, don't. Just answer the question. No one will hurt you."

"Someone always hurts me," Bucky says.

Steve gasps. "No, it's fine," he says quickly when Bucky's eyes widen in fear. "It's just, that's the most you've said since I took you back to the medical suite. I was surprised, that's all. But it's good! It's great, that you told me," he adds immediately, because Bucky hasn't relaxed. "I really appreciate you telling me what you're thinking." Steve _hates_ what Bucky's thinking, but the fact he said it out loud feels like a miracle. "Can you tell me what you mean, though? Whatever you say is fine. You won't get hurt for telling the truth. I just want to make sure I understand."

"What don't you understand?" Bucky sounds genuinely mystified. "Punishment hurts. Maintenance hurts. The Chair hurts. Cryo hurts. I thought you were taking me to be punished, then to have my arm checked, and then to be wiped and frozen. That's what handlers _do._ And it hurts. You know it hurts. Why do you keep asking me things you already know?" 

"Bucky," Steve says, low and rough. "No one is going to do that."

Bucky's jaw works, but he says nothing.

"No one is going to do that to you," Steve repeats. "Bucky, we don't even have that equipment here."

He thought knowing that would be comforting, but Bucky just looks confused. "Is that why you brought me back to your quarters? Because you need to wait for the equipment?" And now he looks hopeful, like he's finally figured things out.

It's heartbreaking. "No!" Steve exclaims, then cringes when Bucky rears back in alarm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. But, _no one_ is taking you to be punished. Or anything else." He cards his fingers through his hair. Bucky still looks spooked. "Are you all right?"

"Why do you keep doing that?" Bucky suddenly bursts out. "Why do you keep asking me 'what's wrong?' or if I'm all right? You promise I won't be punished, but all you do is ask questions I can't answer! You already know what's wrong! _I'm_ wrong! I forgot information about the mission with the robot bears! You asked me about that! I already told you! And…and I can't be 'all right'! _I'm wrong!_ I forgot things I needed to remember!" He stares at Steve, panting with adrenaline. His eyes are enormous, shocked at his own outburst. And then comes the fear, again. The blood drains from his face in a tide. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sir," he says, desperate. He drops his head and squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving.

Steve's sure that if he were a real handler Bucky's punishment would be hell. But he's _not,_ and this is excruciating. He can't stand it.

"Bucky, no. No, it's okay." He goes up on his knees, just wanting to move closer, offer comfort. The instant Steve's fingertips touch Bucky's shoulder he flinches. Steve yanks his hand away, sits back on the floor. "I'm sorry," he says. "I was going to touch you, not hurt you, but I should have asked your permission."

Bucky doesn't answer. He's perfectly still except for the frantic rise and fall of his breathing. Bucky was always patient, but this kind of stillness is uncanny. Steve tries very hard not to think of how Bucky would have learned it.

"You're not going to be punished, Bucky," he says, as steadily and clearly as he can. "I'm sorry I keep asking things that don't make sense. I just want to know if you're upset or in pain. That's all. That's what I mean when I'm asking what's wrong or if you're all right. I'm asking if you're upset or in pain. But I won't use those words again. I'll be more careful so I don't confuse you."

He can tell when his words penetrate the fog of Bucky's grisly expectations, because his breathing slows down by increments. His body seems to relax a muscle at a time, and he finally lifts his head. His eyes are still far too big and he's too pale. But at least he's no longer rigid with fear.

"I don't understand," he says quietly, lost. "I was insubordinate. You need to punish me. I deserve it."

"No you don't. You didn't do anything wrong. I did." All Steve wants to do is take Bucky in his arms. But Bucky will either see it as a threat or think he can't refuse. Steve doesn't touch him. "I made the mistake, not you. You had every right to be angry at me."

Bucky shakes his head. "You're my handler."

"No, Bucky," Steve says, fervent. "I'm not. I'm not your handler."

Bucky stares at him.

"I mean it," Steve says. "I'm not your handler. I'm not a handler at all. You don't have handlers anymore. You don't get punished. You don't get punished for anything. This isn't Hydra. This isn't my quarters, it's our home. We live here together. We're…we're friends. You're not the Winter Soldier either," he goes on, trying not to lose momentum when he can't tell if Bucky's following him at all. "'Winter Soldier' is your codename when we go to fight. Your real, official name, the one your parents gave you when you were born, is James Buchanan Barnes. Your nickname is Bucky. A nickname is like a codename, but it's used by your friends. I call you Bucky because I'm your friend."

"Friend," Bucky whispers. It sounds like he's never heard the word before. Wildness is creeping back into his eyes. "Is this…." He swallows, bites his lip, then drops his head. The muscles in his jaw bunch as he clenches his teeth.

"Is this what, Bucky?" Steve asks him, careful to keep his voice calm. "It's okay. Whatever you say is fine. I'm not going to hurt you."

 _Someone always hurts me._ Is that what he's thinking? But Bucky raises his head anyway. He's always been the bravest one.

"Is this…part of the undercover op?" he asks, "like when we were in Medical?"

"Undercover op?" Steve parrots blankly. "What undercover op? What do you mean?"

Bucky's shoulders move a little. He's twisting the hoodie again. "Back in Medical," he says. "When I pretended to be Sergeant James Barnes, so the doctor and the technicians would treat me like I'm human. And not hurt me. Is this part of that op? Is that why you brought me here and you're not supposed to be my handler?"

Steve hears everything Bucky says, but the idea of it, Bucky talking about his _humanity_ like it's a _mission_ , is so terrible that for a moment Steve can't process it. And then he can barely breathe. "No. No, Bucky," he rasps. "You _are_ human. You really are James Buchanan Barnes. They treated you like you're human because you are. And I'm not _pretending_. I'm not your handler. You don't have a handler. This isn't Hydra. Hydra's _gone,_ Bucky. You escaped from them. They don't own you anymore."

Bucky frowns, his eyes moving like he's trying to find a memory. Then he throws his shoulders back and pulls his legs around until he's cross-legged the way Steve is. He bunches the hoodie in his lap. "All right," he says. "Hydra's gone, huh? That's great." He tilts his head and smiles like a hero about to go off to war. He looks beautiful. And everything he's doing is completely, absolutely fake.

Steve watches Bucky aping himself, and it's like getting stabbed in the heart. it's impossible to hold back the hot swell of answering rage. _This isn't his fault._ Steve knows that. It's not helping. "Bucky, _this is not an op,_ " he snarls. "Why aren't you listening to me?"

Bucky's smile disappears. He scrambles back onto his knees, hoodie tumbling off his lap. He locks his arms behind his back, drops his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm stupid. That's why I don't understand."

Steve bites his tongue so he doesn't bellow at him to _Get the fuck off your knees!_ "What don't you understand?" he asks instead, biting out each word. He's not yelling; it's the best he can do. "I just told you this isn't an op, and that you don't have a handler because this isn't Hydra. Why don't you believe me?"

"I'm sorry!" Bucky says. "I believe you. I believe you, sir. Just, tell me what you need me to believe."

Steve's anger fades to embers. He realizes, dimly, that his fingers are going numb. He relaxes his hands and puts them in his lap, keeping them palm up and open. He feels like a rat in a maze, only every path he takes leads to another wall.

He will never find a way through this. 

_Okay,_ he thinks. _Okay._

"Bucky." He clears his throat, thinking about the helicarrier: the smooth, centered place he slipped into when he knew he was dying. "Bucky, look at me." He makes sure it sounds like an order.

Bucky looks at him.

"That's great," Steve says. "Now, please sit normally."

Bucky does. He pulls the hoodie back into his lap, watching Steve the whole time.

"Thank you." Steve takes a breath. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I wasn't clear enough. I've been a bad handler." _Handler_ feels disgusting in his mouth. He feels disgusting saying it.

Bucky stares at him, expression flickering to wary shock.

"I mean it." Steve says. "You're doing your best to…." He struggles, swallows bile. "You're doing your best to be good. But it must feel like I'm setting you up to fail. I'm going to be as clear as possible from now on, so you won't have to worry. Okay? I mean, do you understand?" he amends, because Bucky hasn't relaxed one iota.

Now, at least, Bucky looks slightly less wary. He nods. Thank God.

"Great." Steve licks his lips. "Maintenance, wiping and Cryo are being postponed indefinitely." Bucky's eyes go huge. "We want you to successfully integrate into society, so you need to remember things long-term and…and stay with me." He winces internally. He's eloquent enough when he has to be, but he's never been all that much of a liar. _Stay with me_ is sentimental, nothing like he imagines a veteran Hydra operative would talk.

But Bucky's eating it up. He's leaning forward, like he can't help himself, clutching the hoodie in his lap. He looks awestruck and like he barely dares to hope, but not afraid. He finally doesn't look afraid.

"That also means you can ask questions and do things for yourself without being punished," Steve continues. "Like, get food for yourself if you're hungry. And sleep when you're tired, and choose your clothing and get clean. And you can go to other floors in the Tower as long as J.A.R.V.I.S. says it's allowed. And talk to people. And…." Steve trails off, because Bucky's gripping the hoodie for dear life and his eyes are wet. He blinks and tears clump in his lashes. "Bucky? Are you all—" Steve grimaces. "Are you upset or in pain?"

Bucky shakes his head. He sniffs, wipes his nose with the back of his right hand. "I can pretend to be human all the time?"

Steve makes a sound that should be a startled, disbelieving laugh, but comes out like a sob instead. He claps his hand over his mouth, breathing through his nose until he's almost sure he won't start crying.

Bucky sees his distress and slowly pulls away, his expression clouding. He shifts like he's not sure if he should go back onto his knees.

" _Don't,_ " Steve says immediately. Bucky freezes. "Don't kneel. You're human, Bucky. You don't have to kneel anymore. Not to anyone. Ever. You understand?"

Bucky slowly settles with his legs crossed again, the hoodie across his knees.

"That's right. That's great." Steve wipes his eyes, telling himself sternly he's not going to start bawling in relief just because Bucky's still sitting on the floor. "I'm not upset or angry. I'm not going to punish you. I promised I wouldn't do that, remember? You're not going to be punished anymore. I'm not sad because of you." Bucky isn't the reason Steve's fighting tears. It's what Hydra did to him. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"You keep apologizing," Bucky says.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I fucked up. I've made mistakes that hurt you. Made you confused and worried, I mean," he amends, because he can tell Bucky thinks he means physically. "And if you hurt someone, you need to apologize. So I'm apologizing."

Bucky frowns. "But, you're a handler."

Steve manages not to shudder. "That doesn't mean I can't be wrong. I'm only human, Buck." He knows his smile is still watery, but right now it's the best he can do. "Just like you, right?"

Bucky's grin is small and not entirely trusting, but it's there and it's real, and that's better than anything Steve thought he'd get. Bucky slowly smooths out the crumpled moose hoodie, then looks at Steve questioningly.

Steve keeps his smile. "It's yours, Bucky. Go ahead. Put it on."

Bucky tugs the hoodie on, leaving the hood up. He looks incongruously adorable with his big, storm-colored eyes framed by the fleecy hood and dark brown, plush antlers. He put the hood down before, likely because the antlers make it harder to see out of the corners of your eyes.

But this time he's wearing it up. It's a little thing, but it's a victory. It's perfect. Right now Bucky's ridiculous moose hoodie is the most beautiful, perfect thing in the whole goddamn world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very Canadian chapter, in that nothing happens but everything ends badly anyway. (Luckily it's not a _pure_ Canadian chapter, or nothing would happen and yet everyone would die.)
> 
> Well, the last scene ends well! They're smiling and Bucky's wearing his hoodie. And there are ~~at least~~ four more chapters to go to fix everything!
> 
> [Here, have some happy kittens.](https://goo.gl/wzjJyF)
> 
> Oh, yeah: [I've Always Been Yours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2780930) is where Bucky gets his Ridiculous Moose Hoodie.


	5. The Wealth in the Common, Everyday Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is this what it would have been like, if Bucky hadn't fled, that first time he visited Steve's apartment? It makes Steve ache for all the experiences they might have shared, but didn't; all the small ways he could have helped Bucky find his way home, but lost before he even knew they were gone._
> 
> _He would give anything to have his wiser, less innocent, unafraid Bucky back. But he knows he'll miss this, when Bucky remembers too much to marvel at the little things._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no cookies in this chapter. But, look! I brought you some!
> 
>   
> 
> 
> I swear there will be cookies for realsies (virtual realsies) in chapter six. I've been adding to the story as I've been ~~rewriting everything~~ editing it, which unfortunately means that, were I to have added the scene-with-cookies in chapter five, it would've made this chapter way, way too long. So chapter six will start with cookies.
> 
> Chapter five ends happily too! There is coffee and chocolate, and hugs and Bucky and Steve laughing. Really. I mean it.  
> 

"Hi," Bucky says, standing at the threshold to the kitchen. His hair is damp, his skin rosy from his shower. The water ran for nearly 40 minutes this morning. Steve was so damn happy to hear it, to know Bucky wasn't too afraid to take that small luxury for himself. Bucky's hair is sweetly tousled over his forehead. Steve would love to run his fingers through it. He grips his mug a bit more tightly instead.

Bucky's wearing a pair of black jeans with a hole in the knee, and his moose hoodie over a light blue tee-shirt. Steve can only see the collar, but he knows there's a vector of his shield on it. He wonders if Bucky recognized the symbol. He never said anything about Steve's Avengers gear yesterday, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Does he think it's some kind of elaborate ruse, like their supposed undercover op? Is he even curious about it at all? Or was that beaten out of him along with everything else?

Bucky came in smiling, but whatever he sees in Steve's expression makes it slide off his face. "You said I could choose my own clothing."

It should be a statement, but it sounds like a question, and Steve is hit with the realization that he could say whatever the hell he wanted, and Bucky would accept it. He could deny every word he said yesterday and Bucky would treat it as gospel. It wouldn't even matter if he believed it; it would become his truth because that's what his handler told him. 

_I'm wrong! I forgot things I needed to remember!_  
_But, you're the handler._

Dear God, the power those monsters had over him.

"Yes, I did say that you can choose your own clothing. And I meant it. You can choose your own clothes," Steve says, precise and clear. He smiles, loosens his grip on the mug before it cracks. "You look really nice."

Bucky blinks, confused, and then decides it's part of the undercover op. Steve can see it in his eyes: the way he relaxes when he thinks he understands. "Thanks. You look pretty good yourself," he says, and it's so much like how Bucky should be but isn't, that Steve has to look away.

 _He's a ghost story._ Steve said that to Natasha, after Fury was shot by a near-mythical assassin. And then, _Let's see what the ghost wants,_ once they had a plan. It was an offhand, flippant remark. He didn't believe in ghosts, then. He does now.

Steve was wrong. This is the ghost story: this sad, uncertain wraith in unfamiliar clothing, roleplaying a life he can't remember.

"Thank you." Steve makes sure he's smiling, swallows down his disappointment. Bucky fell asleep in the guestroom last night, pretending he was human. He slept late, even for him, and in truth Steve hoped that Bucky would wake up intact. Whole. That obviously hasn't happened.

He goes to the cupboard and gets a second mug. This one is from Thor. It's made of nearly indestructible wood, filigreed with golden lines that remind Steve of tree branches. Steve thinks it's beautiful, but Bucky calls it 'the tentacle mug' and finds it hilariously ornate. "How are you feeling?" Steve makes sure to put the mug on the counter where Bucky can see it.

He realizes he's waiting for Bucky to say something ridiculous, like telling Steve to be careful in case Cthulu crawls out. But of course Bucky doesn't. Jokes need context. Context requires memory, and Bucky has none.

"I'm fine," Bucky says.

Steve suppresses a sigh, turns around to face him. "You're human, Bucky. That means you can tell me if you're still in pain, remember? I'm not going to drag you back to the medical suite," he adds, on a sudden suspicion that that's what the problem is. "I just want to know."

Bucky blinks at him. "Why?"

Steve blinks back. _Because I love you._ He won't say that, just like he won't allow himself to touch him. "Because I care about you."

"I'm completely functional," Bucky says.

For a second Steve has no idea what Bucky thinks being functional has to do with Steve caring about him. And then he thinks about what 'caring' would mean, coming from a handler. "I know you can fight," he says, repeating _clear and calm, clear and calm_ like a mantra in his head. "I know how brave you are." (Steve has come to understand he had no fucking _concept_ of how brave Bucky really is, and always has been. How ironic and how terrible that here, after everything, is how he finally realized it.) "What I'm asking is if you're in pain. Because if you're hurting, there are things we can do about it that will help you feel better. Without needing a doctor," he tacks on quickly. "So, can you please tell me if you're in pain, so if you are I can help you?"

Bucky comes closer, padding softly on his pale, bare feet. He looks at the mug but doesn't touch it. "The vertigo is gone," he says carefully. "My head still hurts, but it's a lot better. Maybe a…two? Out of ten?"

That's the scale Orazow uses. Ten is the worst. Steve's pretty sure Bucky's 'two' is a lot closer to a five, and it'd be six or seven for almost everyone else. Bucky has scarily high pain tolerance these days, as well as a tendency to hide his injuries. Not much need to guess where that came from.

It's possible—likely, even—that Bucky's downplaying his pain, but Steve's thrilled enough that Bucky willingly admitted having any at all.

He nods and smiles as warmly as he can, trying to encourage him. "That's great. Thank you for telling me. Anything else? How are your ribs, and your knee? And the bruising?"

"The bruising's gone," Bucky says. He seems more confident after the praise. He kicks out his leg, bends it back. "My knee is fine too. The ribs still hurt a little." He takes a deep, experimental breath. "Three out of ten." He puts his hands behind his back, but instead of ducking his head, he squares his shoulders and widens his stance, lifts his chin. "I'm mission ready, sir," he says.

The 'sir' still lodges rocks in his sternum, but Steve ignores it. At least Bucky's not afraid. Steve will accept the 'sir' forever if he has to, as long as Bucky's not scared of him. "I'm glad to hear it, Buck. But you'll need to get the okay from the doctor first, before you're cleared for missions. And that won't be for a couple days at least," he says, before Bucky gets concerned Steve will take him back to the medical suite after saying he wouldn't.

"Okay," Bucky says.

His inflection is practically flat. There's no way to tell if he's pleased, indifferent or disappointed, but Steve would bet on the last one. He's not surprised that Bucky would be eager to return to something he knows. But that's actually the problem right there, and why Steve is grateful to his bones that he has a legitimate reason to sideline him.

If they had a mission now, Steve's painfully sure Bucky would fight like Hydra, not the Avengers. Hydra's Asset didn't kill indiscriminately, but Steve remembers the collateral damage after the street-level battle in Washington. The Russian mercenaries were responsible for most of it, but two police officers were blown up in their car just to keep them from interfering. The Winter Soldier did that.

It wasn't _Bucky._ Bucky still blames himself, but it wasn't him. In a real way he wasn't even there when it happened. But that's kind of the point.

Bucky—Steve's Bucky, the Avengers' Bucky—isn't really there now, either. And Steve doesn't know if the Bucky who _is_ can be trusted to protect everyone, even if they get in the way.

Maybe it's cowardly to be so happy to have a few day's grace before it becomes an issue. But Bucky is already so diminished. Steve can't stand thinking of what being removed from the mission roster would do to him.

"You're healing, Bucky. Just give it time," Steve says. It's a reminder for both of them.

Bucky nods distantly. He pulls his hood up, either for comfort or to hide. It's so sweet and so sad and so _Bucky_ and yet not that Steve wants to hug him. But he can't.

He can't hug the man he loves, and Steve wants to hurt Pierce and Zola and any- and everyone who are responsible for that with a sadistic eagerness that frightens him. But Pierce and Zola are dead, and Steve won't touch Bucky unless he asks. And he knows Bucky won't.

 _Just give it time._ It's been less than a day. Steve fought in a war; how could less than a day feel like enough to break him?

And how could it feel like enough to break him when _nothing bad is happening?_ They're together in the warm kitchen, bathed in the late-morning light. Bucky's wearing a hoodie with antlers. He looks adorable with the hood up, and with how he can't seem to keep his eyes off the wooden cup from Thor.

"You're human, Bucky. You can examine the cup if you want," Steve says, in case _look at_ is too literal. "I put it out because I thought you might find it interesting."

Bucky picks up the mug, glances at Steve, then when Steve doesn't react badly Bucky does examine it, turning it carefully in his hands and making the gold thread catch the light. "This is…nice," he says, but the way he looks at Steve makes it obviously another question.

Steve wraps his hands very carefully around the edge of the countertop so he won't crush it. He hates Hydra so much it's like his chest is molten with rage. "You know, you don't have to like it," he says as casually as he can. He turns around and cleans out the grinds from the coffee machine, hoping Bucky will feel freer to have an actual opinion if he can't see his handler's face. "There's nothing wrong with that. People don't have to like the same things." He gets down a different mug, one he knows Bucky likes. "I think the gold lines look like tree branches. What do they look like to you?"

"Tree branches," Bucky says instantly. He hands the mug back to Steve. His smile is almost entirely real.

Steve's heart sinks. He feels like an idiot. Did he really think Bucky would disagree with him about anything, no matter how inconsequential? "What about tentacles?"

Bucky blinks at him. "What are tentacles?"

Oh.

"They're what octopuses have instead of arms," Steve says. Now he feels like such an idiot he's dimly shocked he managed to survive this long. _Looks like you left all the stupid with me, Buck._

"Octopuses," Bucky murmurs, then his whole face lights up. "Octopus! Yeah! That's what they look like!" He grins, delighted with his revelation. "The gold lines look like octopus arms." He puts the mug on the counter with a decisive thud. "The mug is stupid. It looks like an octopus trying to climb a tree."

Steve bursts out laughing.

At the noise, Bucky snaps his attention to him. He sucks in a breath, wide eyed with fear.

Either Bucky doesn't remember what laughing is, or he only remembers it as a prelude to something terrible. Steve stops immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says. "I was laughing because what you said was funny."

"It was funny?" Bucky looks like he's not sure what that means. "I just told you what it looked like."

"I know." Steve nods. He chuckles, because it really was funny, especially with Bucky's matter-of-fact delivery. "It's just, an octopus climbing a tree is funny."

"Oh." Bucky's smile comes back lopsided and puzzled, but his anxiety is gone. "I was going to say it looked like an octopus _strangling_ a tree, but that would've been mean."

Right this moment, that's about the funniest thing Steve's ever heard. He ends up leaning against the counter, laughing his stupid head off. Bucky starts laughing too, though it's obvious he doesn't get the joke. But he's laughing because laughter is infectious, not because he's trying to please his handler. And he looks surprised by it, and puzzled, but _happy_. And Steve loves him so much it hurts.

He wants to hug him. He can't, but they're side-by-side, leaning on the counter. And when Steve gently, carefully, bumps Bucky's shoulder with his, Bucky does it right back.

Steve feels something wound tight and painful loosen a little in his heart. Maybe he won't break after all.

* * *

Steve makes more coffee, showing Bucky how to do it. Bucky's fascinated. He seems to be fascinated by everything, no matter how mundane. It never occurred to Steve how rich an ordinary life is; how much wealth there is in the common, everyday things. Witnessing everything he takes for granted through Bucky's eyes is a revelation.

Bucky, of course, is especially interested in the way Steve fixes coffee for him: watching avidly as Steve adds chocolate syrup from the fridge and a generous dollop of whipped cream. Steve normally gives Bucky a hard time about the ridiculous decadence. He promises himself he'll never bother Bucky about it again, if he could just have him back.

And yet, the simple, unrestrained joy Bucky takes in rediscovering the world around him is so beautifully pure that Steve is grateful to share it.

Is this what it would have been like, if Bucky hadn't fled, that first time he visited Steve's apartment? It makes Steve ache for all the experiences they might have shared, but didn't. All the small ways he could have helped Bucky find his way home, but lost before he even knew they were gone.

He would give anything to have his wiser, less innocent, unafraid Bucky back. But he knows he'll miss this, when Bucky remembers too much to marvel at the little things.

When Steve hands Bucky the finished coffee, he looks at it curiously, then pulls his finger though the whipped cream and tastes it. His eyes widen in delighted surprise.

"That's _fantastic_ ," he says, then licks more cream off his finger. "What is it?"

"That part is called whipped cream," Steve says, grinning at Bucky's enthusiasm. He quietly hands Bucky a spoon from the drawer. "I added chocolate to your coffee as well. That's your favorite way to drink it."

Bucky tries to drink the coffee without getting the cream on his nose, which is impossible. Normally Bucky just lets it happen, then tries to wipe his nose on Steve's face or in his hair. Funny how it's possible to miss something so annoying.

"You can use the spoon," Steve offers gently.

Bucky does, of course.

He's almost drained the mug when all of a sudden he stops and lowers it, wrapped in both his hands. His eyes are fixed on the window, but staring at nothing.

"Bucky?" Steve keeps his voice down, moves slow. Something's happening but he doesn't know if it's good or bad, doesn't know how to help. He bites back the automatic, _Are you all right?_. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine, Steve," Bucky says distantly. He blinks at the dregs of his coffee. "I had this before. Here. In this kitchen." He looks around the room then back at Steve. "Do I…live here? With you? Is that…is that real?"

"Yes. Yes you do, Buck. That's true. It's real." Steve reminds himself to breathe. "We both live here. Together. This is our home. Do you remember?" _Please,_ he prays silently, offering his soul. Anything. _Please, please, please—_

"But…I don't live with my handlers," Bucky says. He fumbles the mug onto the counter, never taking his eyes off Steve. "We're pretending. We're pretending because we can't. Not for real. It's not allowed. You'll be punished. They'll hurt you." He grabs Steve's wrist, his eyes big and worried. "It's not real. It can't be real. You'll get in trouble. They'll take you away. I don't want a new handler!"

Steve hesitates before he puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder, but Bucky doesn't flinch, seems to want the contact. "It's fine. It's fine, Bucky. I promise." He doesn't know if that's helping; it doesn't look like it's helping. Bucky's grip is painful on his arm. God knows what scenarios are running through his head. A handler's promise probably means nothing at all. "I won't get in trouble, Bucky," he says, pulling up the same voice he uses on missions, hoping it will get Bucky to hear as well as listen. "I'm not going anywhere. Nothing bad is going to happen. To either of us."

Bucky searches his face. Steve waits, trying to show nothing but his certainty, rubbing his palm up and down Bucky's arm. "We're safe," he says. "We're safe. Nothing bad will happen."

"I believe you," Bucky says, finally. He relaxes his hand, quirking his lips into a jittery smile.

Steve grins back at him, buoyed by relief and a flicker of fierce pride at having earned Bucky's faith. He squeezes Bucky's arm gently before letting go. "I was thinking of making eggs and bacon, and some toast," he says. "Would you like that? Whatever you answer is fine," he adds, because Bucky's gone silent. "You're human, Bucky. You can choose things. You can tell me if you want something else."

Bucky licks his lips. "I don't know what 'eggs and bacon and some toast' is."

It's another of Bucky's favorites, especially toast with peanut butter. "Well, let me show you, then," Steve says, keeping his voice light. "I think you'll like it."

"Okay," Bucky says, but he looks anxious again. Steve's about to ask him if he's upset or in pain, when Bucky steps forward and wraps Steve in his arms.

Steve chokes back his gasp, wraps his arms around Bucky in return. It's partially just to keep Bucky from pulling away, but Bucky isn't going anywhere. He hugs Steve so tightly it actually hurts.

"I won't let them take you from me," Bucky says fiercely. "You're the only handler I want." 

It's not _I love you._ Steve's sure Bucky wouldn't feel that for him even if he knew what it meant. But Bucky's nose is tucked against Steve's neck, and he sighs like he's content, like he's _happy_ , and Steve doesn't give a good goddamn about the creak in his ribs, or the bruises he can practically feel blossoming under Bucky's arms. It's been less than a full day since Bucky got hurt, but Steve already knows how precious this is, the gift Bucky's just given him.

"Thank you," he whispers, because he can't tell Bucky he loves him.

He's sure Bucky won't understand why Steve is thanking him, but that's fine. Steve knows what the depth of his gratitude means, and he'll keep it for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, I'll even move them out of the kitchen! SO MUCH EXCITEMENT.


	6. The War or Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Uh, no offense, bro," Clint says, "but if you're actually fine right now then there is something seriously wrong with you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! New tags!
> 
> Argh. THIS CHAPTER, GUYS. Aside from the visit with the fam keeping me off the computer, this chapter, shall we say, did not roll off my fingertips as smoothly as the earlier ones. Possibly because I've completely exited 'Editing' territory and have now entered the land of 'Rewrite Entirely'. And now I remember why I don't normally post WIPs.
> 
> But it's here, and I didn't even set my laptop on fire once! So total win.
> 
> AND THERE ARE COOKIES.
> 
> (With thanks to my very patient online buddy Shaz, who kindly read and gave her opinion on some stuff I was iffy about, and agreed with me that cookies were owed.)

Two days later and almost nothing's changed.

Bucky's relaxed a little bit, maybe. At least he still takes increasingly long showers and picks his own clothes, and doesn't seem to mind choosing between the food options Steve gives him. He likes learning how to cook, Steve thinks. He acts like it, anyway.

It's a little hard to tell when Bucky's not acting, but Steve's figuring it out. Bucky's smiles are always biggest and brightest when they're fake. When he's pretending to be himself he sounds like he did before the war.

It's exhausting, for both of them. No matter how much Bucky might thrive on his freedom, he can't believe that it's real. Steve's managed to convince Bucky it's okay to ask questions. All the same, he's certain that Bucky thinks if he stops pretending everything's normal and he's fine, Hydra will sweep in and destroy him again, like they always do.

But maybe Bucky's a bit more relaxed now. That's something.

Steve and Bucky are on the couch, sort of watching a documentary about octopuses when he gets a text from Natasha. Bucky, after Steve's quiet encouragement, is taking up most of the couch, stretched out and leaning against Steve's chest. Steve has his arm around Bucky's shoulders. He's pretty sure Bucky's asleep, but he can't see his eyes. He keeps as still as possible anyway, manipulating his StarkPhone with one hand. 

**Dr. Orazow told us Bucky has retrograde amnesia. But maybe it's you, since we had to find out about it from her.**

Steve grimaces in a mixture of guilt and annoyance. **I knew she'd tell you** , he texts back. No one on the team has the luxury of patient confidentiality, not when they depend so completely on each other. Steve hasn't had privacy since the war; he tries not to mind. **Been busy keeping Bucky from panicking every time he doesnt understand smthng.** It's supposed to be nastily sarcastic, but after he sends it and sees it on the little screen, he realizes it's just the truth. **He thinks I'm his handler.**

**Are you okay?**

Steve frowns at the screen. **Im fine. Bucky is th one w amnesia.**

**I know. Are you okay?**

Bucky's breath shudders a little and he twitches; definitely asleep. Bucky doesn't normally fall asleep by accident like this. It's probably because he's still recovering. _And the stress,_ Steve adds silently to himself. The constant, low-level fear alone would be exhausting, even without Bucky's constant pretense on top of it.

At least he's secure enough to sleep. Which is why Steve would rather slice his arm off than purposely wake him.

 **Better than I was. Bucky too. A little.** He hits send, then wishes he could take the 'a little' back, even if that exactly matches what he was thinking. It's too pessimistic. **It's only abt 3 ds though** he sends right afterwards. He doesn't want her to think he's despairing, or anything. He's not.

**Steve**  
**Are you okay?**

Steve stares at the two lines of text for a long time before he answers.

**no**

Natasha's reply, by contrast, is almost immediate: **Let me know when JBB wakes up.**

Steve gapes at his phone. **HTH did you know that? JARVIS?** The A.I. isn't supposed to spy on them, but he can't see how she'd know, otherwise.

**I'm a spy. You wouldn't be that honest if you thought he'd see the screen. ;)**

Steve snorts very softly, grudgingly impressed. **What if he was in the bathroom?**

She sends him an emoji of a little yellow face rolling its eyes.

Steve smiles. He's never quite understood how Natasha can insult him and make him feel better at the same time. **Thanks, Nat.**

That gets him another winky face. **I'm coming over when he wakes up.**

There is, Steve knows, absolutely no point in refusing. He doesn't want to anyway. **I'll let yu knw. Unlss you'd rthr use psychc pwrs????**

Her reply is a bright yellow hand giving him the finger, and a happy face with Xs for eyes and its tongue sticking out.

Steve is still smiling as he shuts off the screen and puts the phone beside him on the couch. He has no idea what Natasha's planning, if anything. But Bucky knows her from the fight with the bears, so hopefully he won't mind seeing her again. It would be good for him to know more people than just Steve, too.

And Steve can admit, in the privacy of his own head, that he'd enjoy having a conversation where he doesn't have to second guess himself with everything he says.

* * *

Bucky sleeps for another half hour. The documentary has changed to a story about sea turtles, but Steve isn't paying attention. He's idly trying to decide between trying to extract himself from Bucky so he can get his sketchbook, or just take a nap himself, when Bucky sits up.

"Did you have a good nap?" Steve asks, smiling.

Bucky doesn't answer. He tilts his head a little in the direction of the hallway. "What does she want?"

"What does who want? Natasha? She wanted to come over," Steve answers, perplexed. His phone's on the couch, next to his leg. Even with the ringer off he would've noticed if someone texted or called. "Did you see her texts? I am okay, really. I just…I'm worried about you," he says, in case Bucky's upset about what he sent.

"No," Bucky says. He stands up, oddly graceless, then sways a little on his feet.

"Whoa!" Steve rockets to his feet, ready to grab him before he falls, but Bucky steadies. "Bucky? What's happening? Are you hurt?" Standing close like this, Steve can finally see Bucky's face. He's not actually awake. His eyes are only partially open, dull and unseeing. Whatever woman he's responding to is entirely inside his head.

"No, stop. I don't want it," Bucky says. He sways into a half-turn towards the hallway. Steve moves with him, not quite touching but prepared in case he stumbles. "It hurts. Leave me alone."

"Bucky, it's okay. You're having a nightmare. You're safe. You're just dreaming. Nothing bad is happening." Steve wants to wake him, isn't sure he should. He remembers hearing that it's bad to wake sleepwalkers, but he has no idea if that's a myth.

"Leave me alone!" Bucky says again. "Steve." He lifts his hand, clumsy and slow, but obviously reaching. "Steve. Help."

Steve takes Bucky's hand in his, holding as tightly as he dares without hurting him. "I'm right here, Bucky. You're safe. I'm right here."

"Wake me up." Bucky grits his teeth. "I can't…. Steve, wake me up."

"Oh my God." Steve only hesitates fractionally before taking Bucky by the shoulders. He shakes him as gently as possible, mindful of his healing brain. "Bucky! Wake up! Wake up now!"

Bucky wakes up with a gasp. His breaks Steve's grip, automatically moving to defend himself. He recognizes Steve and stops midmotion, blinking owlishly. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Steve answers honestly. "You fell asleep on the couch while we were watching the documentary—which is fine. I have no problem with that. I'm glad you slept if you're tired," he adds, because he can see Bucky's sliding into panic. Steve would rather crash the _Valkyrie_ again than watch Bucky dropping to his knees in fear. "You started sleepwalking, that's why you're standing up now. You were talking to a woman, telling her to stop doing something because it hurt. You wanted her to leave you alone. You told me to wake you up."

Bucky relaxes, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Steve realizes he's started stroking up and down Bucky's left arm and pulls his hand away. "Can you tell me what you were dreaming?"

"I don't remember." Bucky copies what Steve was doing with his right hand on his left arm, shoulders hunched like he's withdrawing into himself. He glances down the hallway, the same direction he was looking in his dream. "Just…someone was calling for me and I didn't want it."

"Yeah, that's what it sounded like. But it was just a dream." Steve smiles at him. "I got a text from Natasha while you were sleeping. She asked if she could come by when you woke up. Is that something you want?" 

Bucky cards his fingers through his hair. "Natasha was the one who flew us home, right?"

Steve nods, still smiling. "That's right. She'd like to see you, but it's your choice. You won't be punished if you don't want to see her. You don't have to."

Bucky looks at Steve, studying his face. He slowly drops his right hand, curls them both into fists. He swallows. "No. I don't want her to come here."

It's a test. Steve can tell by the speed of Bucky's breathing, the way he's obviously forcing himself to look Steve in the eyes. Bucky wants to find out if Steve will keep his word. It makes Steve want to whoop in victory and cry at the same time. 

"I want to hug you, but you can say no. You can always say no." He doesn't go closer, or add 'please', or do anything like what Sam calls his 'puppy eyes', in case that makes Bucky feel pressured. He hopes to hell Bucky doesn't feel pressured anyway.

Bucky blinks at him. "Why?"

"Because I'm so proud of you," Steve says. "I know that took courage. You expected to be punished, didn't you? Even though I told you to tell me what you wanted."

"Yes, sir." Bucky nods.

Steve's careful not to wince visibly at the 'sir'. He had no idea it was possible to loathe a word this much. "You're so brave, Bucky. So incredibly brave to do that," he says. "I'm not punishing you. No one is. I'll just ask Natasha to come some other time. Is that good?"

Bucky nods again, but then he hesitates, looking uncomfortable. "I…want to see her. Please?"

"You do? But you just…." Steve trails off, getting it. "That's no problem," he says warmly. "I haven't texted her yet." He scoops his phone off the table, makes sure Bucky can see him telling Natasha that Bucky's awake and looking forward to seeing her. "There," he says decisively, hitting 'send'. He beams at Bucky. "Thank you for telling me what you wanted. It makes life easier."

"You're welcome," Bucky says softly. He looks away, then right back. "You can hug me."

Steve wraps Bucky carefully in his arms. "I'm so proud of you," he says. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

"I'm proud of you too," Bucky says.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, so he won't laugh or cry.

* * *

When Steve lets Natasha in, she's followed by Clint and Sam. "Hey, guys," she says. She tips her head a bit to indicate the two men. "They ambushed me on the way here."

"Hey," Clint says. "I made cookies."

"Thanks," Steve says. Bucky's behind him in the kitchen. He looks a little anxious but mostly okay. "What do you want, Buck?" Steve asks him. "Would it be better if only Natasha stays?"

"We don't mind if you'd rather we leave," Sam says.

Steve can tell just by the way Bucky moves his head that he's pretending again, putting on a worldly confidence he doesn't feel. "Naw, that's fine." He sounds exactly like himself. If Steve didn't know better, he wouldn't think anything has changed. As it is, the dichotomy makes his skin crawl.

"Thank you," Sam says. He gives Bucky one of his big, genuine smiles and holds out his hand. "I'm Sam Wilson. I live in Washington D.C., but I'm also one of your Avengers' teammates, so I come up a lot. I mostly stay at the Facility, though." He grins. "More room to fly."

"You can fly?" Bucky asks him. He hesitates fractionally before he shakes Sam's hand.

"Yup." His grin widens. "I have mechanical wings."

"That's neat," Bucky says. He puts his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. His smile probably looks real to everyone except Steve. "You're in the paintings."

"You got that right," Sam says, pleased. "I'm glad you recognize me."

"'Course I do," Bucky drawls. "You're one of my handlers, aren't you? Like Steve."

Natasha must have warned Clint and Sam already, because Sam only blinks a couple of times. "Nope. I'm just on your team. And I'm your friend."

Bucky seems to consider that. "All right. You kind of piss me off like a handler, though," he says.

Sam laughs, which startles Bucky so badly he backs up to the back counter. But he relaxes a little when Sam looks amused instead of angry. "We have a complicated relationship. But, yeah. We're friends." Sam grins broadly at Bucky, letting the fondness he has for him shine through. "We're good friends. Even if we piss each other off half the time."

Bucky's return grin mimics Sam's perfectly. "I'm glad," he says. That, at least, sounds like he means it. He looks at Clint. "You're the bowman." He grimaces apologetically. "I don't remember your name."

"I'm Clint Barton," Clint says. "The guy who brought the cookies." He smacks the two large plastic containers onto the counter and opens them. "Do you remember chocolate chip cookies?"

"No." Bucky's hand is hovering over the nearer container like he can't quite help himself. "Are those pieces of chocolate?"

"Yep." Clint grins and pushes the container a little closer. "Go ahead. Try one."

Bucky picks up a cookie, sniffs it, then takes a bite and chews. "You _made_ these?" he asks Clint the instant he swallows, like he can scarcely believe something so wonderful could come from human hands.

Clint chuckles and puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder. He mores more slowly than he normally would, Steve notices, gentle with Bucky's skittishness. "Good, huh?"

Bucky takes another bite, nodding enthusiastically as he chews. "Oh, yeah," he says with the gravity of conviction. He gets another cookie and hands it to Steve. "You need to try this."

"Thank you," Steve says. If it were even just ten minutes earlier, he'd be staggered by Bucky's trust and affection. But right now, knowing how hard Bucky's working to fake being human, Steve can't tell if the gesture means anything at all.

It's a good cookie. It has nothing at all to do with the bitterness at the back of Steve's throat.

* * *

Sam, Natasha, Bucky and Steve sit at the table, which is small so it only has four chairs. Clint hoists himself up onto the counter because he's always more comfortable on a perch, no matter how low.

Bucky keeps up his act so beautifully that a couple times Steve almost believes it's not an act at all. And then Bucky says something that's just a bit off, or too perfectly _him_ to be real, and Steve's back to watching the doppelgänger of the man he loves. Except for Bucky asking if Sam was his handler, it could almost be any other afternoon. Even Bucky's questions about things he knew before he got hurt sound like idle curiosity, rather than his vacant ignorance.

Bucky is _good_ at this. Better than Steve ever imagined. It's terrifying, actually. Makes him wonder how often Bucky's done this, and when. How many times has Bucky been acting as a stronger, healthier, happier or less scared version of himself, with Steve having no idea at all?

Except, Steve can see the where the pretense is frayed at the edges: how it takes Bucky a fraction of a second longer than normal to choose the right words; how his smile is a little too bright, a bit too brittle and fleeting. He has a pinched look around his eyes, like he's fighting a headache.

"How're you doing, Buck?" Steve puts his hand on the back of Bucky's neck, only long enough to drag his fingers through the sweat-damp curls at his nape. "Is your head hurting?"

He expects Bucky to grab for the out Steve gave him, especially since it's obvious he's in pain. Instead, Bucky looks at Steve like he's just betrayed him. Bucky's expression is barely a flicker before he catches himself, but Steve's a super solider too. He sees it.

"I'm fine," Bucky says.

"I dunno, Buddy. You're looking a little peaked." Clint says. He slides off the counter, grabbing one of the last remaining cookies out of the plastic container. He pops it in his mouth, chewing then speaking around it. "Believe me, you don't want to fuck around with a concussion. You should probably lie down."

Steve's grateful for the backup, but Bucky shakes his head. "Already did that," he says, and his grin is almost right. "I'm not tired." 

Sam stands, makes a show of stretching. "Well, _I'm_ tired. It's great seeing you two, but I had a late night last night. I'm beat."

Natasha and Steve stand as well, taking Sam's cue. Bucky glances at Steve and gets up too.

"Thanks for coming," Steve says. "And for the cookies, Clint. They were great."

"Yes they were," Clint agrees happily. He looks at Bucky. "Next time, it's your turn to make 'em. You're better at baking stuff."

Bucky blinks, too surprised to keep up his façade. "I am?"

"You are. That's why I make you help me when I want to bake cookies." Natasha goes to him and puts her hand on his wrist, giving him plenty of time and room to move his arm away. He can't keep the wariness out of his eyes, but he lets her touch him. She says something to him in quiet, gentle Russian that still makes him draw back in a slow, anxious recoil.

"No one is going to hurt you, James," she says in English. "You don't have to pretend with us." She leans up and kisses his cheek. "That's because you're my friend. You will always be my friend. You don't have to earn it, and you don't have to pretend to be fine when you're not." 

Bucky touches his cheek, too shocked to say anything. He seems to barely notice when Natasha slides her hand down his wrist to lace their fingers. She says something to him in Russian, using that tone of hers that's somehow kind while allowing absolutely no argument. Bucky blinks again, but he meekly follows her out of the kitchen.

Steve watches them go, wondering if he needs to intervene. Bucky doesn't look upset or afraid, but he might be hiding that like he's been hiding everything else. Then again, Steve was planning on doing pretty much the exact same thing Natasha did, once everyone was gone. It's just that he doesn't know if Bucky feels safe enough with Natasha to tell her 'no'.

"Nat told Bucky that she can tell he has a headache, and that she used to get them too," Clint says, translating for them. "She knows how hard it is to keep up the act, especially after being wounded. She said she was gonna take him to lie down for at least an hour, and that she'd sit with him, but only if he wanted her to." Clint spreads his hands a little. "Nat does what she wants, right?"

"Yeah," Steve says. Natasha and Bucky stop near the end of the hallway, standing between the guest room and the room he and Bucky normally share. Natasha gestures at Bucky and Steve's room, still speaking Russian. Bucky shakes his head. Steve's relieved to see Bucky making a choice, but it still hurts a little, how quickly he refuses his actual bed. _He doesn't remember that it's his,_ Steve thinks, wishing that helped. "I'm just…." He trails off, grimacing. He doesn't know how he's feeling, other than that he doesn't like it. "You guys don't have to stay," he says instead. He can't decide if he wants them to or not.

"Hey, I don't have anywhere I need to be." Clint looks at Sam. "You?"

Sam shrugs amicably. "I wouldn't mind a nap myself, to be honest." He grins. "Then again, that's pretty much my default. I'd love some more coffee, though," he says to Steve.

"Sure." Steve makes enough for the three of them, happy to have something occupying his hands so he doesn't keep glancing down the hallway. Natasha still hasn't come out of the guest room. He knows all she's doing is keeping Bucky company, but Steve is still hit with a sudden flash of jealousy so ferocious it shocks him.

 _He_ should be the one with Bucky, helping him feel safe as he sleeps. Except he hasn't asked, since he isn't sure Bucky could say no. And now Natasha gets to be with him.

"You okay, Steve?" Sam asks.

"What?" Steve says, just to buy himself some time. It's not like he didn't hear him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Here." He puts the full coffee pot and three mugs down on the table then sits in the chair Natasha used. He pours coffee for everyone, giving Sam and Clint the lion's share since the caffeine does nothing for him anyway.

"Uh, no offense, bro," Clint says, "but if you're actually fine right now then there is something seriously wrong with you."

"I wouldn't put it like that," Sam says with mild admonishment, "but what's true is that no one is expecting you to be fine with this. No one _could_ be fine with this, Steve."

"You told Nat you weren't okay," Clint adds quietly.

"I'm trying to be okay," Steve says. "It's just—" His voice cracks like old cement and he puts his face in his hands. 

Sam lays his hand on Steve's back, Clint puts his on Steve's arm: two places of warmth when the rest of him feels like he never came out of the ice. "You don't have to be okay," Sam says. "This is a fucked up situation and you have every right to be angry, or frightened, or sad, or anything you're feeling right now. He's my friend too, and right now I'm scared that he's never going to get his memory back."

"I'm fucking terrified," Clint says.

"He thinks Hydra still has him," Steve rasps. "He thinks I'm his handler and that he's pretending to be…to be himself because this is an undercover op, practicing to be human so he can integrate into society." He swallows. "I told him that. I had to let him think I'm Hydra, because he couldn't accept anything else. I tried. I tried so hard to make him understand…." He shakes his head mutely, clenching his eyes shut. He can feel the tears coming anyway. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong, Steve," Sam says.

"Feels like I have." Steve takes a shuddering breath, wiping his eyes. "He asked me to tell him what to believe. I could've said anything."

Clint nods. "Yeah. Nat was like that for a while. One time I asked her what she wanted for lunch without giving her options first and she started hyperventilating so bad she nearly passed out."

Steve sniffs. Maybe it's cruel to be hopeful because Natasha was once as terrified as Bucky, but Steve can't help it. "How long did it take her to stop being scared?"

Clint tilts his head, thinking. "Couple years, before she stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things got a lot easier for her after that."

"Two years," Steve whispers.

"Natasha didn't have the Avengers, Steve," Sam says. "Bucky's got all of us at his back. Helping him learn who he is again doesn't have to be just on you."

"He's still Bucky," Clint says. He pats Steve's arm before letting go and picking up his mug. "It's not like he's dead or fucked off on us. He's still here, just…messed up."

"It doesn't feel like Bucky," Steve only says it out loud because he knows his friends won't judge him for it. "It feels like Bucky's gone and whoever's left is someone else."

"It's only been a couple days," Clint says.

Steve lets out a sound nothing at all like a laugh. "It feels like a year."

"I'm sure it does," Sam says. "I'm sure right now it must feel like he's never going to get better. But he heals as fast as you do. Chances are in another couple days he'll be just fine."

"I know," Steve says. "I shouldn't be so pessimistic. It's just…." He takes a breath. "It wouldn't be so bad if the war was the last thing he remembered, you know? Or Brooklyn. Something good." The war _had_ been good, though Steve hated admitting it. But after Azzano, the two years with health and strength and purpose and _Bucky_ had been the best of his life. Bucky had seemed happy too, most of the time. "But, it's Hydra. That's all he can remember. He doesn't know he's free. It's like Hydra never lost him."

"Hydra didn't lose him. He ran away," Clint says, like it's such an obvious fact he can't believe Steve didn't know it. "He didn't wander off, dude, he _ran_. He saved your ass from the Potomac, then he went on, like, a vengeance world tour, burning them to the ground."

"He doesn't remember that," Steve says.

Clint shrugs. "So we'll remind him."

"What if we can't?" Steve rubs his forehead. He shouldn't be like this. It's only been a few days since Bucky was injured. He knows that, he does. But it's so much easier trying to convince other people not to give up, than it's ever been to convince himself.

Steve is not an optimist by nature. He just pretends to be one: Undercover as a man who has hope.

"Steve." Sam gently squeezes Steve's nape. "You also need to remember that this Bucky is the same now as he was when he chose to walk right back into his own personal hell and tear it down. He's forgotten his past. That doesn't change who he is."

"I think it kind of has to, Sam," Steve creaks out. He clenches his jaw until he doesn't feel like trying to say anything at all will start him bawling again. "He doesn't know me."

"He will."

Steve startles, hearing his own words tossed back to him. He remembers exactly how he felt when he said that to Sam; the certainty he'd constructed like a bridge over the churning terror underneath.

He wasn't willing to die to break through Bucky's programming. He was willing to die if he couldn't. And until he woke up on the shore, he was certain that in the end Sam had been right.

"I want to believe that," Steve says.

"So believe it." Clint shrugs again. "I mean, even if the worst happens and he never gets his memory back, he's still here. We're not Hydra, right? I mean, he got _cookies._ That's, like, already a million times better."

"That's a really good point," Sam puts in, nodding. "You could actually think of what's happened like time-travel. You couldn't help Bucky the first time the Winter Soldier escaped from Hydra. But now you can. Now you _are_ helping him. And he doesn't have to be alone."

"So…kind of a win-win," Clint says.

Steve does his best to smirk. "Yeah. I guess so."

It doesn't feel like it. He appreciates Sam and Clint trying to keep him hopeful, but right now it feels like he's only allowed to have Bucky in his life to lose him, over and over again. And Steve knows that's not fair, that Bucky's still here, still alive. But, he's not. Not really. Not this quiet, watchful ghost of him that might be all Steve has left.

Steve knows it's unfair, but he misses him. He misses Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Canadian chapter! This time with added #ILOVEMEETINGS. Because you can never have too many scenes of characters sitting around talking, amirite?
> 
> Oh! Oh! Couple things: 
> 
> **One:** Sam telling Steve that it's as if he could go back in time to help Bucky escape from Hydra comes from one of the comments, which I can't find. D:. I'd been thinking vague thoughts about Bucky's amnesia giving him this one silver lining, but the comment helped me figure out how to say it. PLEASE, GENTLE COMMENT PERSON, LET ME KNOW WHO YOU ARE SO I CAN CREDIT.
> 
>  **Two:** I've had the awful experience of sleep paralysis once in my life. I was with my sister, and a loud noise had almost woken me up. My eyes were open but I couldn't move. I can still remember how desperate I was for her to notice and wake me (she didn't, alas, but I woke up by myself). I also frequently have nightmares where I'm just lucid enough to know I'm dreaming, but I can't change anything. I've woken myself up from those a few times. ::shudder::
> 
> I was thinking of that when I wrote this chapter. :)


	7. The Things We Need the Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You know what you did!" Bucky shoves Steve again, hard enough this time that he stumbles back and hits the wall. "You know what hurt me! You always know! Why do you keep pretending you don't? What do you want from me?"_
> 
> _Steve stays with his back against the wall. His hands are up, palms facing Bucky as if that could possibly ward the Winter Soldier away. "I'm not going to fight you," he says again. His voice is still gentle. Bucky hates it. "I'm not pretending, Bucky. I swear, I don't know what happened. I don't know what I did."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm not dead!
> 
> It's taken me more than a week to update this thing. Yeah. I'm so deep into rewrite territory that I can hear wolves. Put a candle in the window for me?
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all the other SGA fans. For reasons.

Bucky doesn't remember falling asleep with Natasha rubbing his back like a child. He doesn't remember a lot of things, but this tiny, freezing, pitch black box is so familiar the terror it evokes is almost comforting.

He's not afraid of the box. They won't let him freeze to death and he's absolutely alone. He's terrified of the gaping, unending space of time between when they shut him in and when they finally, finally, _finally_ let him out. He can't lay down or stand up. He can't extend his remaining arm to the side. He can't fully extend his legs. He can't move enough to beat himself to death on the walls (he tried). He can't get warm and he can't see and he can't hear anything because they perforated his eardrums. His ears will heal, but it will take hours.

The darkness and silence are absolute.

He's not broken, not yet. But he can feel it coming, like cracks forming beneath his skin: the screams he won't hear that will tear his throat when he can't keep them back anymore; the jittery restlessness that will become urgent, agonizing pain; the desperate, clawing need to see and hear and touch _anything else_ but cracked, cold cement and his own trembling body. It hasn't consumed him yet, but it will. It always does. It's just a matter of time.

Bucky knows he'll fight the boredom, claustrophobia and discomfort with every bit of stubbornness and anger he still has inside him. And he will lose. Bucky will break, and beg, and cling to his captors like a child when they pull him out. They'll say he's good and let him go to his cage to eat and sleep, and he'll be so grateful that he'll do anything until they want him to torture and kill. When he refuses they'll shut him in the box again.

This will happen over and over and over, until they use the Chair. They won't need the box after that.

But this is a nightmare, so he won't stop fighting, even when it feels like the darkness and silence have crawled inside of him, through the cracks. He will never beg and he will never break, and he'll die in the cold, silent darkness because they'll never let him out—

The sudden, brilliant light should be blinding, but it isn't. It's like someone opening shutters, letting air and warm sunlight flood his tiny prison. He can see, and he can hear the sob of grateful relief he can't hold back.

A woman stands in the light. She's beautiful, with dark skin and black hair and deep brown eyes, wearing a long, white gown like an angel. He can't tell how old she is. She feels familiar, like Steve or Bucky's team. Maybe she knows him, because she's smiling like Steve does when Bucky hasn't disappointed him.

He can't see past the bright circle of light surrounding them both, but he knows that beyond its protection is nothing but more dark, cold silence. He doesn't want to go back there again.

The woman holds out her hand. "I can help you," she says. She has a nice voice. "You don't have to go back to your prison. You can remember and be whole again."

He wants to take her hand. He doesn't know what being whole means, but it sounds…good. Better than being broken. Except, he's the Winter Soldier. He's never been whole. That's why he's not a person.

Steve and Dr. Orazow told him he's injured, that he's supposed to remember, but that can't be real. It's just part of the op, pretending he has a history. He's used to the cold, dark nothing where his past used to be. There's not supposed to be anything else.

He wishes Dr. Orazow and Steve were telling the truth. He wants to be whole, to have a history of his own. Maybe that way he'll know how to make Steve happy. But he's the Winter Soldier. He doesn't get what he wants.

Bucky scrambles to his feet. "No. I'm not whole. I can't be whole. It hurts. What you want hurts. I don't want more pain." He tries to back away from her, but that means going back into the dark.

The woman comes closer, still holding out her hand. "The things we need the most often hurt the most terribly."

"No!" Bucky slides one heel back, trying to put more distance between them. He can feel he's at the edge of the light. If he moves too far he'll be outside of it, and then what will happen to him? "Everything hurts all the time. I've had enough. It's _enough._ I don't want to be hurt anymore! _Leave me alone!_ "

"You will remain lost, if that is your choice," the woman says. She takes another step towards him, looking frustrated and sad. "Is that really what you want?"

"I want you to leave me alone!" Bucky backs up on purpose, stepping out of the light and into the box again. He can't see, he can't move, he can't hear his own screaming—

He wakes up in the dark with someone's hands on him. He cries out, tries to break their grip, but he's sluggish and disoriented and they easily evade him. He's pulled against a heavy, solid body, his back to their chest, held so that his arms are pinned at his sides. When he tries kicking, their legs wrap around his, trapping him completely. Bucky keeps fighting anyway, because as soon as he stops they'll lock him in the box. He can't go through that again. He _can't…._

"Bucky! Bucky, it's all right! You're okay, you're safe. It was just a nightmare. No one's going to hurt you. You're in your room. You're safe in your room, Buck. Can you hear me?"

Steve. That's Steve, his handler.

Bucky's in the Tower, in Steve's quarters. The lights in the room and the hallway outside are off, but Steve's light is on and his door is open. Bucky can see and hear. He can't move, but that's because he's on his side on the bed, with Steve wrapped around him like an octopus from the documentary. Steve didn't hurt him; he's only holding Bucky still to protect them both.

Bucky sags in relief. He's safe. He's really safe. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. You didn't do anything. I'm fine." Steve lets go of Bucky, disentangles himself and then stands at the side of the bed, giving Bucky plenty of room to sit up. "Are you all right? That nightmare sounded pretty awful. You were yelling at someone to leave you alone again. I ran in here when you started screaming."

"Sorry," he rasps. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wants Steve to come back on the bed and hold him. But so far Steve's always asked if he can hug Bucky; he's never said if Bucky's allowed to ask to hug Steve. He didn't seem to mind when Bucky hugged him without asking at all before, but he might now. Bucky doesn't know if he should ask, or if he doesn't need to. He doesn't have the energy to sort it out. He wraps his hand around Steve's wrist instead. Steve lets him, so that's okay. It's almost good enough.

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." Steve sits on the edge of the bed, Bucky's hand still holding his wrist. He looks at Bucky's hand, then back at his face. "Can I hug you?"

Bucky nods gratefully, then lets go of his wrist and moves aside to give Steve more room on the bed. As soon as Steve opens his arms Bucky topples into him. He leans his head on Steve's shoulder, sighing against his neck. The fear and anger from the dream are fading, but his thoughts are disjointed and slow. He feels like there's a bag of marbles in his head, rattling around.

"What are marbles?"

"Uh, they're small spheres made of glass," Steve says. "Children used to play games with them."

"Oh. Okay." That makes sense, then, why he'd think of it. Glass spheres would rattle. He's too tired to feel proud that he kind of remembered something. "My brains are like marbles."

Steve smirks a little, but it just sounds sad. "You're going to be fine, Bucky. You're healing. You'll get your memory back."

What does memory have to do with marbles? He wants to know but it will take too much work to ask. He wants to go back to sleep, but he might dream again. "What time is it?"

"After eleven. You slept for a while."

"Oh." That's more than ten hours. He can't believe Steve would let him sleep that long. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I know you didn't. It's fine. I'm not angry. I am worried, though. This is the second time you've had a bad nightmare in less than three days. What was it? What were you dreaming about?"

"The box," Bucky says.

"The box?" Steve repeats. Then, "Oh! Oh, wow—I never even thought about that!" He sounds excited. "Maybe it'll help you remember." He gently separates himself from Bucky and gets off the bed. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

Bucky watches Steve disappear into his room. He's wide awake now.

His stomach drops so fast he feels like throwing up. He swallows the bile down, ignores the sudden chill as his body readies to fight or run. He can't run; he must not fight.

He's angry that Steve would break his promise like this, no matter that Bucky expected it. But Steve looked…eager, before he left, not sad. Bucky was sure he'd be sad. Steve was sad when he thought about punishing Bucky during the movie. The box is the worst punishment of all. Why isn't Steve sad about that?

It doesn't matter. Bucky deserves this, whatever he's done. It's his fault if Steve's eager to hurt him.

But he's still angry.

He can hear the door opening of the little room inside Steve's big one, and then a faint rattling noise. Marbles? Is he bringing Bucky marbles to take into the box with him? That's kind. The box won't be so terrible if he has small glass spheres to hold in his hands.

But Steve doesn't come back with marbles. He's carrying a case. A metal case with a black handle and a lock that's clearly been coded. "This is your—"

Bucky scrambles off the far side of the bed, making it a barrier between them. Steve told him not to kneel so he doesn't, but he backs into the corner, turning his face away and clenching his eyes shut. He claps his hands automatically over his ears, though he knows it won't help. Nothing will keep out the noise. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't do it again!" He's speaking too loudly but he can barely hear his own voice over the insistent clamoring.

"Bucky, what is it?" Steve's voice sounds far away. "What's going on?"

Bucky can't answer because he doesn't know what he did wrong. But maybe that's the problem. Steve told him this might help him remember. There's only one thing he can think of that he forgot but should have known. 

"I'm sorry!" Bucky tries again. "I'm sorry I didn't remember the mission!"

Bucky's eyes are shut and he can't hear much, but the banging of the door to Steve's bedroom slamming shut is clear enough, and then there's sudden, beautiful silence.

"Is that better?" Steve comes around the bed, his face alight with concern. "Bucky? What happened? Why were you apologizing? Are you in pain?"

Bucky's gasping, trembling from adrenaline. It feels like his entire body's made of marbles, rattling around. He puts his hands behind his back, lowers his head to stare sightlessly at the floor. He should be kneeling, but Steve told him not to. Bucky locks his knees so he doesn't. "No, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Bucky, no! No, don't. Please don't do that." Steve grips Bucky's shoulders. He sounds so upset, and he's so gentle. He's always gentle, but he purposely brought the metal case into the room.

Bucky's simmering anger bursts into rage.

"Don't touch me!" He shoves Steve away from him, though he doesn't push hard enough to hurt. He knows better than that, just like he knows his caution won't save him. "You said I was safe!" he snarls, "You said no one would hurt me. You _promised_ no one would hurt me! But you did!"

He is perfectly, absolutely aware of what this outburst will cost him. Even the gentlest, most generous handler in the world will retaliate if they're attacked. If Steve is too kind for it, his superiors will force him. Maybe they'll use the box again. Bucky will deserve it.

Bucky waits for Steve to come at him, but he doesn't. Steve keeps his hands at his sides, leaves his stance relaxed and open. "I'm not gonna fight you," he says, intense and earnest. He looks upset, not angry. "Bucky, what happened? What hurt you? What did I do?"

That only makes Bucky angrier. "You know what you did!" He shoves Steve again, hard enough this time that he stumbles back and hits the wall. "You know what hurt me! You always know! Why do you keep pretending you don't? What do you want from me?"

Steve stays with his back against the wall. His hands are up, palms facing Bucky as if that could possibly ward the Winter Soldier away. "I'm not going to fight you," he says again. His voice is still gentle. Bucky hates it. "I'm not pretending, Bucky. I swear, I don't know what happened. I don't know what I did. I just brought the box—"

"That's not the box! You know what the box is!"

"No I don't!" Steve snaps back at him, finally angry. "That's the only goddamn box I know about!" He stops, gritting his teeth. He takes a breath. "There's nothing in there that can hurt you, Bucky," he says, relentlessly gentle again. "I don't know what's going on."

"Yes you do." Bucky stalks towards him. "You have to! Stop lying!"

"I'm not lying!" Steve says. "Bucky, _Stop._ Stop for a second and listen to me."

He sounds like a handler. Bucky stops. He listens.

"Bucky, I have _no idea_ what the hell's going on," Steve says. "You said you dreamed about the box, so I brought it. I thought you remembered it."

" _No, I didn't,_ " Bucky grinds out. "I dreamed about the _box,_ not that container! I don't remember it! Why do you keep expecting me to remember?" He's so angry his fists are shaking. His left arm keeps rippling, realigning itself as his muscles twitch. "I don't remember! _I'm not supposed to remember!_ You know that! You're my handler, you have to know that! I'm supposed to remember things for missions, that's all! Just missions! How could you not know that?"

"Because I—!" Steve cuts himself off, clenching his jaw like he's trying to trap the words behind his teeth. He takes a few long, deep breaths through his nose. "You are. Supposed. To remember," he says, precise and clipped with fury. "The doctor told you that. You can't remember your past because you have a brain injury. You're _injured,_ Bucky. This isn't normal. Can't you get that? _This isn't normal._ I don't expect you to remember things because I'm a bad handler! I expect you to remember things because _you're supposed to remember them._ "

"No I'm not," Bucky says instantly, bewildered. Steve's talking about the op like it's real. "You're not making any sense. You never make sense! If I'm injured, then why did you bring that case in here? Why did you punish me for not remembering?"

Steve gapes at him. " _What?_ "

"The metal case! The voice is in the case. I heard it inside my head and it _hurt,_ " Bucky grits. "You know that. I know you know that because you said maybe the case would help me remember. Then you used it to punish me because I _didn't!_ Handlers always say that! You always say punishment will help!"

Steve just stares at him. Bucky glares back, waiting for whatever Steve will do to him. He's too angry to be afraid. The fear will come, and then pain, but right now Bucky's so angry he doesn't care. He likes not caring.

"That's what you meant," Steve says, very quietly. He's still staring. He looks scared. It's all wrong; he should be angry. "Bucky, I'm so sorry." He comes closer, reaches for him, but pulls his hands away when Bucky backs up. "I wasn't punishing you. I meant what I said: there's nothing in the b—in the case that could hurt you. It's filled with things like bottle caps, toy cars and old letters. I brought it because I thought that's what you were dreaming about. I don't know what happened, but I wasn't using it to hurt you. I really thought that some of the things inside could help you get your memories back."

"The woman's voice is in the case," Bucky says. "I keep dreaming about her. She says she wants to help me, but it hurts. I've told her over and over again that I don't want it, but she won't leave me alone."

"Bucky," Steve says carefully, "there's no voice in there. There's nothing in the case that could do that. The only thing that makes sound at all is a little windup music box." He looks confused and worried, and as if Bucky matters to him.

Bucky wonders why he really thought anything would be different this time. Steve is a great handler. He's the best handler Bucky's ever had. But that doesn't change what he is. And the Winter Soldier's truth is always whatever his handlers tell him.

It doesn't matter what Bucky knows. Steve said he's wrong, so he's wrong.

"Okay," he says.

He thought that would be good enough, but Steve still looks unhappy. "I'm sorry, Buck, but I think we need to go back to the medical suite."

"Okay," Bucky says again. Steve told him that his injuries wouldn't be reevaluated this soon, but he's not surprised. Handlers always lie. "Is that my punishment for assaulting you?"

Steve frowns. "Assaulting me? You mean, the pushing?" He shakes his head. "No. I'm not going to punish you for that. I'm not punishing you for anything. Ever. We're going to the medical suite because you need your brain scanned again. I don't know what's going on, but hearing voices…" He swallows. "That's not good, Buck. We have to get you checked out." He looks scared, as if Medical is his punishment, not Bucky's.

Bucky doesn't know what to believe. He's never had a past but at least he could predict what would happen to him. But he hasn't been able to predict anything since he woke up in the ravine. He hates it. He's so tired of everything. He scrubs his face. "Why don't you hurt me when I deserve it?"

"You don't deserve it," Steve says immediately, no room for argument. "You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to yell. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I don't understand why you're doing this," Bucky says plaintively. "Why don't you act like a real handler? I know we're pretending, but it's still wrong. I'm not allowed to be angry. Even undercover. I can't assault a handler. I should be punished. I need to be punished for that! Why are you so kind and then punish me for something else and say you didn't?"

"Oh, no," Steve says. "Bucky…." He comes closer, reaching for Bucky again. It's like he can't help himself. Bucky steps back. "It was an accident. I didn't know the case would hurt you. I wasn't punishing you, I swear. I wasn't trying to hurt you at all. I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting anything like that. I had no idea what was happening."

"How could you not know?" Bucky's so frustrated he's blinking back tears. "Why do you keep saying that? What do you want from me? Please," he begs, "just tell me what you want."

"I want you to believe me," Steve says. "It was an accident. I swear it was an accident. I didn't know you'd react like that. I wasn't trying to hurt you. Bucky, I would never hurt you."

His eyes are big and liquid and so, so sincere. Bucky has to accept what he said because Steve told him to. But he really does want to believe him. He wishes he could.

"Okay, Steve," he says. "I believe you."

"Thank you," Steve says, but his smile looks like he's in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to reiterate that this story has a happy ending. Actual happy! Like, smiling and everything.
> 
> [Here's a picture of a sleeping puppy and kitten.](https://goo.gl/NMurDW)


	8. The Underlying Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If this doctor says I really am crazy, can I still stay with you?"_
> 
> _Steve startles like he didn't expect Bucky to speak. "No one said anything about you being crazy."_
> 
> _"I know." Bucky takes another bite of his last sandwich and chews it for a while before swallowing. "But you said there couldn't be any noise in the case. So I have to be crazy. Will I be wiped and put back in Cryo, since I can't do this op anymore?" It's easier to ask it all at once, get the words out before they suffocate him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed this is chapter 8/ ~~10~~ 11\. The finish line keeps retreating. My longest fic in the series previous to this one is _I've always been yours_ (link in the fic end notes). I swear I don't know what happened. (I also originally wrote 'serious' there instead of 'series'. BECAUSE CANADIAN, OBVIOUSLY.) 
> 
> Also, trying to type around a sleeping cat is very difficult.  
> 

Steve lets him eat, at least. He even stands out of the way while Bucky makes himself peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Bucky makes ten of them and pours himself a huge glass of milk, and then sits at the table and eats and drinks as slowly as he can. Partially it's because he's not sure he'll ever get this again, and partially it's because he's still angry. Making Steve wait to take Bucky somewhere he doesn't want to go is as satisfying as it's frightening.

Steve just waits, though. He sits on the other side of the table, patient and calm. He looks sad and worried, but he still smiles at Bucky every time Bucky glances at him. It's like….

Bucky doesn't know what the hell it's like. He doesn't know what Steve's smiles or his sadness or worry really mean. He wants to ask, but there's no point. Either the answer would confuse him again or he wouldn't believe it anyway.

Maybe Steve isn't such a good handler after all.

 _No. That's not true. He is._ Steve is, despite everything. He's kind. He lets Bucky get away with things—like making his own food and eating ridiculously slowly—that no other handler would. He's never hit Bucky or slapped him, or even pulled his hair. He lets him sleep as long as he wants, and they watch TV together, and Steve makes him coffee with whipped cream and chocolate.

Except that's part of the problem. Steve's kindness is incomprehensible, just like half the stuff he says.

But Bucky still trusts him. He wants so badly to believe that every time he thought his handler was punishing him it was actually an accident. He wants to believe that what Steve told him, that Bucky should have memories, so badly it's like a physical pain. He wants so badly to really be human.

Maybe if he were human, Steve would believe that Bucky really did hear a voice in his head, coming from the metal case with nothing but paper and bottlecaps in it.

Bucky knows hearing voices isn't good, just like Steve said. He knows what 'crazy' means. Steve hasn't used that word yet, but Bucky knows that's what Steve's thinking. Bucky's certain he heard the same woman from his dream calling to him. He knows it was real. But Steve won't accept it.

If Steve were a different handler, Bucky would think he was worried because he'd be punished for letting the Winter Soldier get so injured he lost his mind. That could be the reason for the sadness too. But this is _Steve,_ who does all these kind things and hugs him and said _I love you so much_. Steve hasn't said that since he found out Bucky forgot most of the bear mission. But maybe he still feels it anyway? Maybe Steve's worried and sad _for Bucky_ because, like he said before, he wants Bucky to stay with him?

That would be good, if it was true. Because Bucky wants to stay with Steve too, even if he's angry right now. But he doesn't know if it's true or not.

"If this doctor says I really am crazy, can I still stay with you?"

Steve startles like he didn't expect Bucky to speak. "No one said anything about you being crazy."

"I know." Bucky takes another bite of his last sandwich and chews it for a while before swallowing. "But you said there couldn't be any noise in the case. So I have to be crazy. Will I be wiped and put back in Cryo, since I can't do this op anymore?" It's easier to ask it all at once, get the words out before they suffocate him.

He thinks he should ask what happens if he can't go on missions with the Avengers. He can't make himself do it, because he already knows the answer. He just can't bear to hear Steve say it.

"No!" Steve looks horrified. " _No,_ Bucky. I said that wasn't…I said that was being postponed indefinitely, right? That won't change even if you still need to heal." He reaches out, but hesitates. Bucky moves his left arm a little closer and Steve wraps his hand around it. It makes Bucky less angry. "No one is going to take you away from me. Do you understand that, Bucky? You're staying here as long as you want to. No one gets to decide that except you."

"Okay," Bucky says. He really wants that to be true too.

He takes the last bite and washes it down with the last of the milk. He moves his arm and Steve lets go immediately, because he's kind. Bucky goes and cleans his hands and mouth at the sink. "Do you…." He stops, shakes his head.

"What?" Steve asks. He stands up and goes to where Bucky is. "What is it, Buck?" He puts his hand on Bucky's arm. His eyes are earnest again. "Whatever you say is fine. I'm not going to hurt you."

Bucky swallows, reminds himself that Steve lets him ask questions. "Do you still love me so much?"

Steve's eyes go wide. "Oh, God, Buck. I love you so much it hurts."

"I hurt you?" He thought love was good. Maybe Steve means when Bucky pushed him. If Bucky hurt him, it's only reasonable Steve would punish him with the case. But Steve said he _wouldn't_ punish Bucky, and that what happened with the case was an accident. And he said there was no voice in Bucky's head, and he thinks Bucky's crazy.

So…maybe loving Bucky so much hurts because Bucky keeps disappointing him, so Steve's sad all the time? That's not real pain but it hurts anyway. He remembers that it hurts anyway.

"I'm sorry," he says. He means it, it's not just to keep Steve from punishing him. Bucky's not angry anymore; he feels terrible. "I'm trying to be good. I didn't want to hurt you."

Steve's eyes go even wider. "No, no. I didn't mean that!" he says immediately. "I didn't mean it like that. I said it badly. You never hurt me, Bucky," he adds, voice urgent. "You have to know that. You never hurt me."

Bucky shakes his head, thoughts careening inside his skull. He knows that's not true. He hurts Steve all the time. "I don't understand. I know what hurting means. I know I've hurt you. You don't have to be kind to me about it."

"I'm not being kind. You _haven't hurt me,_ " Steve insists. "What I meant was that I love you so much I would do anything for you. I'd go anywhere. I love you more than anyone else on the entire planet and I don't know how I'd survive if you weren't with me." Steve swallows. "I wouldn't want to survive, if you weren't with me."

Bucky stares at him: Steve's big, liquid eyes. "But, you're my handler." He means that he's just an Asset. He can't understand how he could be that important. To anyone.

Steve blinks and his liquid eyes spill over. He opens his mouth, closes it, then looks away shaking his head. "That doesn't change how much I love you."

Bucky still isn't sure what 'love' means. But _I wouldn't want to survive if you weren't with me_ is clear. More than clear. It's the best thing anyone has ever said to him.

"Can…can I hug you?" he asks, because he wants to and he thinks it'll be okay.

Steve's answer is to immediately wrap Bucky in his arms. "Yes, Bucky. God, yes. You can always, always hug me."

"Good." Bucky's knows he hurt Steve before, even if Steve says he didn't, so he's more careful this time and doesn't hold too tight. "I feel safe with you," he says, because he thinks love means something like that. Steve seems to understand, because he holds the back of Bucky's head and turns his face so his lips are touching Bucky's jaw. Steve's breath is warm on Bucky's neck. "You make me feel safe, even though you confuse me all the time and hurt me by accident and take me to Medical. I want everything you tell me to be true."

He can hear Steve's unhappy noise, and holds him a little more tightly so he won't move away yet. 

"It is true, Bucky. I swear."

"Handlers always lie," Bucky says. He's not saying that to make Steve upset or be mean. It just is.

"I'm not—" Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky feels his chest expanding; imagines he can feel the beat of Steve's heart. "I'm not like the other handlers. I don't lie to you."

"They all said they wouldn't lie."

"Fuck," Steve whispers. His eyelashes flutter against Bucky's cheek. "How do I earn your trust, Bucky? What can I do?"

 _Not be a handler,_ Bucky thinks. But that's as useless as wishing he were a real person. "It's okay, Stevie," he says. "You're still my best handler." He reminds himself that Steve thinks he's brave, and touches his lips to Steve's cheek, the way Natasha did to him. "That's 'cause you're my friend."

Steve gasps. "Thank you," he says softly.

"Are you upset or in pain? Am I holding you too tight?" Bucky asks him, because it sounds like Steve's trying not to cry.

"No. I'm fine. It's just…." Steve's breath shudders. "That's not clear enough. I mean, you're not holding me too tightly." He tightens his arms around Bucky a little bit, like he wants to prove it. "And I'm not upset. I'm overwhelmed. I didn't think…I didn't think you'd want to kiss me again."

'Kiss' must mean the lip touching. "I did. You stopped."

"Oh." Steve sounds surprised. He gives Bucky another little squeeze and then let's go. Bucky steps back right away, like Steve always does. But Steve keeps his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "I stopped because I didn't want to kiss you if you couldn't say 'no'."

Bucky blinks at him. "Why did you think I'd want to say 'no'?"

Steve smiling again, but the sadness won't leave his eyes. "Because kissing is…important. You should only kiss people you want to kiss, and I wasn't sure you knew me well enough for that. But I'm your handler, so I didn't think you could say 'no' if I tried to kiss you. Even if you didn't want it."

"I'll always want it from you," Bucky says. "You're my best handler." He grins. "Even if you're a punk."

He has no idea why he said that—he's doesn't know what 'punk' even means—but it felt right, like something that might lift some of the sadness from Steve's eyes.

It does. Steve's eyes get really big again, but his smile's not quite as sad when he steps right back into Bucky's arms. "Well, you're a jerk who can't stay out of fucking ravines," he says. There are tears in his voice, but he's laughing too, and then he kisses the side of Bucky's head. So maybe it's okay.

* * *

"What was the box you were dreaming about, Buck?" Steve asks, very quietly. "Can you tell me?"

They're waiting for the results of Bucky's latest brain scan, in the exam room Bucky changed in. The doctor is different—Dr. Kabir, not Orazow—and even though Bucky was very, very careful to pretend to be Sergeant James Barnes and human, after he told him what happened with the voice in the metal case, Dr. Kabir insisted on an MRI instead of another CAT scan.

He was very apologetic about it, but he said he needed a better picture than what a CAT scan could do. Even a CAT scan designed by Stark Industries. Bucky wanted to refuse. He thought that Steve would even let him say no. But Steve looked so worried that Bucky agreed anyway.

Steve stood right outside the cylinder and held on to Bucky's ankle. It helped a little. No one touched him after he was put in Cyro; certainly no one ever gave his ankle gentle squeezes every couple of minutes. It was comforting to know Steve would pull him out if he started screaming. But even the gentle, warm grip on his ankle couldn't change how it was a white, enclosed cylinder. All Bucky could do was keep taking long, steady breaths and wait it out.

Steve brought the moosehoodie for him to wear afterwards, and that helped too. But Bucky's still jittery and anxious. The last thing he wants to talk about is what Hydra did to him.

He licks his lips, looking down at where his hands are stuffed in the hoodie pockets. He has the hood up and he's plastered himself against Steve's side. Medical isn't cold, but he feels cold anyway, as if the reminder of Cryo was enough to put ice back in his bones. "Could you…keep me warm? Please?" He shouldn't be asking his handler for anything, let alone something so childish and weak. He knows he won't be punished because Steve loves him so much it hurts. But that doesn't stop the shame heating his face, or the spark of fear that maybe he's finally pushed his handler too far. But he's still cold.

"Hang on," Steve says, still so quiet, as if he knows how much Bucky needs it after the machine. He gets off the exam table, goes to the cabinet and pulls out a blanket. He wraps it around Bucky's shoulders, then sits next to him again and wraps his arms around him too. "Better?"

Bucky nods, relaxing into the warmth. "Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Steve runs his hand up and down Bucky's arm, like he's chafing it. "What was the box, Bucky?"

He should've known Steve wouldn't forget. Bucky leans his head against Steve's shoulder, reminds himself that he's brave, that he wants to trust Steve as much as Steve wants Bucky to trust him. "What if I say no?"

"Then I won't ask again," Steve says simply. "I want to know because I love you, so everything that happens to you is important to me. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I don't want to tell you," Bucky says.

"Okay," Steve says.

Bucky waits, but Steve doesn't ask again, doesn't insist, doesn't get angry. It's just like when Bucky told him he didn't want to see Natasha. All Steve did was say he'd let her know.

"They put me in the box when I did something really, really bad," Bucky says.

"You don't need to tell me this," Steve says. "It's okay, Buck. You said you didn't want to, and that's fine."

"I know," Bucky says. "But…it's important to you. And you didn't make me."

"Oh." The word is barely a puff of air against Bucky's cloth-covered ear. "In that case, I'm honored. Thank you."

Bucky has no idea what Steve would feel honored for, but he sets that aside with all the other things Steve says that he doesn't understand. "Like when I shoved you," Bucky goes on. "I thought you were going to take me to the box for that. I deserved it."

"You never deserved anything Hydra did to you," Steve says.

That's something else Bucky would like to be able to believe. But it's not the point. He didn't shove Hydra, he shoved _Steve._ Bucky deserves worse than the box for threatening him. He doesn't say it because he knows Steve will tell him he's wrong, and Bucky doesn't feel like arguing. "They used it…before, too. I think. I dreamed about it."

"Before what? What did you dream?"

"I don't remember." That's mostly true. Bucky remembers enough of the dream to be glad he can't remember what actually happened. "Just that I was in the box, and I knew they wouldn't let me out."

"That sounds terrible." Steve kisses the side of Bucky's head, which feels weird since he has the hood up, but it's nice anyway. "What was the box? It sounds like a cage."

"It wasn't a cage." Cages have bars. He was grateful for his cage because he could see out of it. "It was…a box. Only, concrete. I could only sit 'cause there wasn't enough room, and it was cold all the time, and dark. I couldn't see or hear anything."

"Oh, God." Steve sounds upset again. "How…how long…?"

"Until I begged them to let me out. Sometimes longer, if they didn't think I'd learned my lesson. It wasn't that bad, though. Really!" he says quickly, because he can tell by Steve's breathing that now he's really upset. That's the last thing Bucky wanted. "They always let me out, and my cage was warmer and I could see, and my ears always healed—"

" _What?_ "

"My ears always healed," Bucky repeats anxiously. He lifts his head so he can see Steve's face, and he looks just as horrified as Bucky feared. "They broke my eardrums so I couldn't hear. But they always healed."

"Oh, Bucky," Steve whispers. "It _was_ that bad. It was worse than bad. It was hell. You were in hell, Bucky. You don't have to pretend it was all right to protect me. I just…." He swallows heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've…." He lets out a heavy breath. "You had to go through that all alone, and there was nothing—" He stops speaking, just hugs Bucky tight. "No wonder you never told me."

"I just told you now," Bucky says.

"I know." His laugh doesn't sound much like one at all. "You're always protecting me."

Bucky frowns. "I want to protect you."

"I know," Steve says again. He has that smile that isn't really one. "But I want to protect you too."

"Why?" Bucky asks. "You're my handler. Why would you want to protect me?"

"Because I love you," Steve says. "So much it hurts. I'd do anything for you, remember? But you won't let me."

"I'm sorry, sir," Bucky says.

Steve's eyes go wide in alarm. "No! No, I didn't mean it like that! I'm not angry," he says. "I'm sorry. I used the wrong words. I don't want you to think I'm angry."

"I know you're not angry," Bucky says. "I'm sorry I made you sad. I disappoint you all the time. I was apologizing for that."

"No, Bucky." Steve looks confused. "That's not true. You've never disappointed me. Why do you think you've ever disappointed me?"

Luckily, the nurse knocks on the door before Bucky has to answer. Listing every single time would just make Steve sad again, and Bucky hates doing that.

* * *

Dr. Kabir is a little darker than Sam. He's an older man who smiles a lot. He smiles when he gives them the good news: Bucky's brain looks completely healed on the MRI scan.

Bucky's really happy to hear that, since it means he can go out on missions again. He's excited about working with his team and protecting his handler. He's not used to so much downtime either, even if it's for the op. He's restless and bored and wants to go out and do the things he was made for.

He turns to Steve, beaming, expecting Steve to be just as happy as he is. Only he's wrong. Steve isn't happy at all.

"I don't understand," Steve says to Dr. Kabir. "What about the amnesia and the voices? And he's sleeping ten or eleven hours a day. If he's healed, why isn't that better?"

Bucky clenches his hands in his lap so he won't put them behind his back. _I'm Sergeant James Barnes, who's a person,_ he reminds himself. He doesn't have to hide being angry.

Which he is. "I'm fine," he says stiffly. He's undercover, and he wouldn't tell Steve he's wrong in front of the doctor anyway. But Bucky doesn't have amnesia; he just doesn't have memories. He doesn't know why Steve keeps insisting that's not true. "I'll sleep less." That's easy. He can set an alarm and wake up whenever his handler wants him to. "I know there's nothing in the case. I won't let it distract me again."

Dr. Kabir has his fingers slotted together over his stomach. He regards Bucky gravely. "I am aware of your history, Sergeant, so I know you can do everything you say. But I'm afraid altering your behavior won't solve the underlying problem."

 _There is no underlying problem!_ Bucky bites his tongue so he won't say it out loud. Instead he goes still and blanks his expression. That way he won't look threatening, and he won't risk showing what he feels. He's not feeling anything good.

"What is the underlying problem?" Steve asks. He's not betraying Bucky on purpose. Bucky understands that now, but the knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less. "Did he…" Steve glances at Bucky, looking guilty. "Did he heal like that?"

Steve's asking if Bucky healed with damage, like a scar. Because Steve thinks something's wrong with him. Bucky clenches his hands more tightly and stays perfectly still.

"If I were to go by the scan alone, I would say 'no'," Dr. Kabir says. "However, there is clear evidence to the contrary." He turns to Bucky, looking apologetic. "It's not unheard of for traumatic brain injuries to result in symptoms such as what you've described. I'm afraid we can't rule it out, even without confirmation from the MRI scan."

"I'm not crazy," Bucky says.

"No one said you were," Steve says. "You were just badly hurt. Sometimes the effects of that don't go away for a long time. Sometimes they don't…go away at all. Like the scars on your arm."

"I know what you meant." Bucky keeps his voice steady and calm, stuffing all his anger down inside like kindling. He can't let it out here; he's supposed to be human. "You mean that you still think I'm crazy, just that it's because I healed wrong." He grips his left wrist, feeling the unyielding solidity of it through the cloth of the hoodie. He pretends he's channeling the anger through his right arm into his left, where it doesn't have to affect him. He won't ruin the op. Above all, he won't let himself hurt Steve again.

His left arm didn't grow back either, though he doesn't know how he lost it. Bucky's very aware that some injuries never heal properly. But that doesn't mean his brain didn't.

Bucky's fine. The voice in the case was real. It's not his fault that Steve and the doctor don't believe him.

He realizes Dr. Kabir said something and he wasn't listening. "I'm sorry, doctor," he says.

He responded like the Winter Soldier, not Sergeant James Barnes. He tenses, but Dr. Kabir doesn't seem to notice. His smile is kind. "It's perfectly understandable, Sergeant. This is a lot to take in, and I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now. But I was just explaining that there is every reason to believe this will resolve itself in time, especially given your accelerated healing. Just continue to rest and eat well, and avoid stress." His smile becomes a rueful smirk. "If you can. I've sent you a referral to one of our counselors. You've seen her before."

"You liked her," Steve says. He's using his gentle voice again. Bucky doesn't look at him.

"Thanks, doc," Bucky says. It's the best he can manage. He wants to snarl at them both that they're wrong, but he can't. They already think he's crazy, he doesn't want them to think he's volatile too. "But…I can still go on missions with the Avengers, right?" he asks. "'Cause I'm all healed?"

He has to still have that, at least, even if he's crazy. Steve said he wouldn't have to go back in Cryo if he couldn't continue the undercover op. But Bucky never asked about the Avengers.

They have to let him still fight with the Avengers. They _have_ to. If not…if he can't do what he was made for….

Then nothing. Maintenance and the Chair and Cryo. Unless they just kill him. What good is a broken Asset? He'll never see Steve again.

He doesn't want to be nothing.

But Bucky hears Steve's sharp intake of breath, and he doesn't have to see the devastation on his handler's face to know what the answer will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got them out of the apartment! I am so proud. I'm also pleased to have produced another chapter brought to you by snow, quiet desperation, and the letter 'C' (for CANADA!).
> 
> Tragically, [psychosis after a traumatic brain injury](https://goo.gl/cySzzZ) [is very real](https://goo.gl/tbLiMk). Please wear a helmet.


	9. Life Is a Dumpster Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What if…" Tony starts, "hypothetically—that means something that could happen, but hasn't—what if everyone was right? I mean, what if you really were Sergeant James Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky, who has regular memories and really lives with Steve as his friend and partner. What then?"_
> 
> _"I'm not Bucky," Bucky says._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have, at one point while writing this, referred to Bucky as a 'fucking angst potato'. 
> 
> I can't believe I've been working on this chapter since Tuesday. I _really_ can't believe this chapter ended up nearly 5000 words, either (and that was after cutting out 600 words. _For length_ ). But hey, Tony Stark! Who wasn't in the original version of this! And yet here he is! Go, me!
> 
> I hope you enjoy nearly 5k of Tony Stark and Bucky the Fucking Angst Potato.

Admittedly, Tony probably shouldn't be going to work out at 2:30 in the morning. Then again, there are far worse things he could be doing (and did. Definitely did). And on a scale of, say, compulsively designing new suits to attempting long-term suicide via alcoholism, he figures running on a treadmill until he's finally tired enough to shut up his brain falls somewhere below implanting himself with computer chips as a Christmas present.

So. Not so bad, really. Tony's even optimistic enough to look forward to snuggling next to Pepper and sleeping for a couple hours.

And then he sees Bucky Barnes whaling on the heavy bag like he's got a personal grudge with it, and Tony crumples up his plans and tosses them into the dumpster fire that is evidently his life. 

Because the barely-controlled rage in each of Bucky's hits has _Do Not Leave to Own Devices_ written all over it. Which, logically, means Steve should be down here too. So if he's not, then he must be the reason Bucky's pummeling the bag in the first place. Which leaves Tony as the lone available crying shoulder in this situation. Too bad for Bucky.

See, Tony's been avoiding Bucky like the plague since he found out that the bear to the head turned him into James "Tabula Rasa" Barnes. Apparently Tony is _such a fucking genius,_ that he just assumed Bucky was being his typical jackassy self when the poor kid actually had no clue what the hell was going on. And now that Tony knows those big, vulnerable blue eyes were completely legit, he'd kind of rather eat glass than deal with the squeaky clean brain behind them.

Part of it is guilt that he missed something which in retrospect was obvious like a fucking neon sign. Who the hell is so self-absorbed that they can't even tell their buddy needs help?

The thing is, they're pals. They have tea and hot chocolate, watch movies and hang out together at stupid hours of the morning when they can't sleep. They leave each other tchotchkes and stupid notes. Bucky helps Tony practice how to fight, and Bucky goes to Tony when he has questions about the research McKay sends him.

They're pals. Friends. Tony doesn't have so many of those; he knows how precious they are. And he still dropped the ball when Bucky needed him.

So, yeah. Most of the avoidance thing is guilt. Tony is excruciatingly aware of that. But the rest….

The rest is that Bucky doesn't know him anymore. Natasha said Bucky didn't even remember Tony's _name._

And here's the other thing: Tony's a fucking _genius_ at making enemies and dissuading people; he sucks hard vacuum at being an actual decent person. He has no idea why he and the Buckster clicked the first time around. Tony's self-aware enough to not like the chances of that happening again.

Guilt and fear, throw in some shame for the trifecta. All of which means it's been a lot easier for Tony to be a total asshole and ignore him. It's not like Bucky cares.

But he can't ignore Bucky anymore. Tony designed that heavy bag, and he knows it's like hitting a lightly-padded wall. Normally Bucky tapes his hands or wears gloves, but tonight he either didn't bother or doesn't remember how. There's blood smeared all over the bag, and Bucky's sweating like he took a swim fully clothed. God knows how long he's been down here, punishing himself like this.

Tony might be an asshole, but he's not enough of one to leave someone so obviously in pain alone in the middle of the night.

So. "Hey, Ali!," he calls, sauntering over like he hasn't been cowering near the elevator for the past few minutes. "You keep hitting the bag that hard, you'll hurt its feelings."

Bucky literally leaps straight up like a startled cat, then turns around in midair. He lands with his fists clenched, ready to fight, then stands there with his eyes wide and chest heaving. All he's missing is the bristly, thrashing tail.

Tony stops dead. "Uh, sorry. My bad." He wiggles his fingers in a little wave. "I'm Tony. The guy in the flying suit who carried you back to the gang after the bear fight."

"I know who you are," Bucky says.

"Oh. Well, great." Tony rearranges his smile into one that looks relaxed, then nods at the heavy bag. "Wanna tell me what's up with that, Buttercup?"

"Why do you do that?" Bucky demands, suddenly furious. "You're not my handler! Stop giving me codenames! And what's up with _what?_ What are you talking about? Why does everyone always say things I can't understand? I hate it! Leave me alone!"

He's so intensely, inexplicably angry that for one terrifying second Tony thinks Bucky might actually come at him. And then he feels even more like a heel when all Bucky does is turn around and go back to bashing the shit out of the bag. "I'm sorry," Tony says. "You've, uh, told me that before, that I confuse you. I say stuff that people don't understand all the time. I can't help it. I speak before I think a lot. It's like that with the names, too. They're just…names I give people. They're not anything important. It's just a stupid thing I do with my friends. I didn't—"

"I don't have _friends._ I have _handlers!_ " Bucky grinds the words through his teeth, punctuating each one with a blow. On 'handlers' he hits the bag so hard with his right hand that Tony can hear his knuckles crack from where he's standing. 

"Hey, hey, whoa! Stop! You've busted your knuckles! Stop!" Tony rushes towards him, then stops himself. Bucky probably wouldn't hurt Tony for touching him, but Tony's not willing to risk it. 

"You're—not—my—handler!" Bucky shouts. If anything he hits harder. His right hand leaves red splotches like paint. It must hurt like hell. " _Leave me alone!_ "

"I can't!" Tony shouts right back. He moves to Bucky's side, which puts him dangerously in reach but makes him harder to ignore. "I can't let you keep hurting yourself! I'm not leaving until you stop!"

Bucky sets his jaw and keeps going, challenge clearly accepted.

"Fine." Tony crosses his arms. "Either you stop or I'm getting Steve."

It's like every time Pepper threatened Tony with calling Rhodey, back when he did self-destructive bullshit like it was his job. Bucky's expression even slides through the same looks of anger, betrayal and humiliation. But he stops. He steps away from the bag, squaring his shoulders and putting his hands behind his back. 

Tony tells himself he's happy about that. "Thank you." He jerks his head in the direction of the men's changeroom. "Come on. I'll bandage your hand." He starts walking, trying to look like he's sure Bucky will follow.

He does, thank God. Tony leads him to the secluded first aid counter, pulling over a stool. He sits down, then gestures at the other stools. "Sit."

Bucky grabs a stool and sits, then dutifully holds out his hand. It's uncomfortably similar to a dog giving his paw.

"Great. Thanks." Tony takes Bucky's hand as gently as possible. The whole thing is swelling; Tony's sure Bucky broke more than his knuckles. "You probably should go to the medical suite," he murmurs.

Bucky says nothing, but his silence is telling enough.

Tony clears his throat. "Right. How 'bout I just clean and bandage it really well, so you don't have to?" He lifts his head to see Bucky's face. Bucky's expression is carefully blank, but he nods.

"All right then. I'm going to wash the sweat and blood off. It'll probably hurt." He waits for another nod, then pulls Bucky's hand under the tap. The water flows automatically, coming out freezing cold. It's supposed to help reduce swelling and pain, but Tony can tell by the way Bucky goes completely still that it's not going to work. "Tap, warm water," he says. The water warms instantly and Bucky relaxes. 

"So," Tony starts as casually as humanly possible, "why were you attacking the heavy bag like that?"

"Practice." Bucky keeps his eyes on his hand as Tony washes it. It has to hurt terribly, despite Tony being as gentle as he can, but Bucky doesn't even twitch.

"Practice," Tony parrots in nearly the same tone. "By yourself. At 2:30 am. Without taping your hands first."

Tony expects Bucky to make a face and some pissy comment, or try to deflect by pointing out how Tony was in the gym too. But the Bucky who'd do that knows what nicknames are and understands almost all of Tony's references. This Bucky clenches his jaw but doesn't say anything.

Tony shuts the tap off and carefully dries Bucky's hand, trying not to show the sorrow suddenly blindsiding him. He has an abrupt, aching sympathy for Steve. "I couldn't sleep tonight," he says, slow and careful, making sure Bucky can understand. "So I came down here to run on a treadmill and tire myself out. Sometimes I run when I'm angry, or even if I'm frustrated or really sad. The exercise helps me feel better." He grimaces inwardly, hoping he doesn't sound as patronizing out loud as he does in his head. "Going by how you were clobbering the shit out of that bag, I'm going to take a guess that you're pretty angry too." There. Yeah. Adult style communication. Go, him.

Bucky's lips flatten. He nods.

"Yeah. That's what I figured." Tony makes sure to focus on what he's doing, give Bucky the space to speak. "Are you angry at Steve? Is that why you're here and he isn't?"

He glances up at another nod.

"He said it was okay." It comes out as a rasping whisper.

"It's always okay for you to come down here. You don't need permission." Tony finishes gauzing up Bucky's hand and starts wrapping it in waterproof protective tape. "What did Steve do that pissed you off so much you broke your hand?"

"He told me I can't go on missions with the Avengers."

Tony stops wrapping, snaps his head up to stare at Bucky's big, vulnerable eyes. "Why not?"

"Because I'm crazy."

"He said you're crazy?" Tony gapes at him. "Why the hell did he say that?"

Bucky glares over Tony's shoulder at the far wall. "Because I heard someone calling me from the metal case and Steve and the doctor think that's impossible. So I'm crazy."

"What metal case?" Tony realizes he's been smoothing the ends of the bandage unnecessarily, just to keep the contact. He cradles Bucky's hand on his thigh instead.

"The one you made me." Bucky looks down at his hand in both of Tony's, but doesn't move it.

"Okay…I want to make sure I got this straight, here. You heard a voice calling to you from the case I made." Tony waits until Bucky nods. "Are we talking about _inside_ the case? Or the case itself?"

Bucky frowns. "What difference does it make? I'm crazy either way. So I can't go on missions anymore." He goes back to glaring at the wall. "Steve said he was worried I might hear a voice that wasn't there during a fight, so I'd mess up and someone would get hurt."

"Yeah." Tony winces in sympathy. "That fucking bites, doesn't it?" He remembers exactly how badly it bit when Natasha's recommendation to Fury was that Iron Man would make a great Avenger but Tony Stark wouldn't. And then a couple years later Captain America basically told him the same thing, which bit even worse. Tony smooths out the waterproof wrap again, then makes sure there's enough circulation to Bucky's fingers. "Unfortunately, it's the right decision."

Bucky yanks his hand back. "I'm not crazy! I heard it! It was there!"

Tony puts his hand out placatingly. "Hey, hey. I never said you didn't hear anything. You heard it. I believe you." He does; it doesn't mean he believes that what Bucky heard was real. "The problem is, he can't be sure you won't hear voices somewhere else. Like during a mission."

"I _won't,_ " Bucky snarls. "It's in the _case._ Just the case! That's the only place it is!" 

"Okay, okay. I believe you." He does, for all the difference it'll make. Steve is the one who needs to believe Bucky, and Bucky wouldn't be sitting here with a broken hand if Steve did. "How many times have you heard it?"

Bucky relaxes warily, glowering. "Just one time from the case. But I dreamed about her twice."

"Her? Like, the voice is from a specific person?" Tony leans closer, fascinated. "Do you know her?'

"No." Bucky shakes his head. "She's approximately 168 centimeters, with black hair, dark skin and dark eyes. Indeterminate age, but likely older than 30. Wearing a long white gown." He hesitates. "She's beautiful, like an angel. But I don't recognize her."

"Huh. A 30-something angel you've never met." Tony rubs his chin, thinking. "What does she want?"

Bucky looks down at his bandaged hand, flexing the fingers a little. "She said she could help me…not be lost anymore. To be whole again."

"Whoa," Tony stares, stunned. "How?"

Bucky shrugs. "I just had to take her hand. But I didn't want to."

"You didn't?" That makes no sense at all. "Why not?"

Bucky takes a deep breath and lifts his head. "Because I'm not supposed to be whole. Everyone says I have amnesia, but I don't. I'm not supposed to remember. I don't want to be in pain for nothing."

That's a hell of a lot to unpack. Tony goes for the easiest first: "Pain? What pain?"

"I will hurt!" Bucky snaps. "She said it would hurt! I don't want to be hurt anymore! I've had enough!"

"Right. Right. Sure. I get it. No more pain. Reasonable life goal, there." Tony's sure the pain Bucky's talking about is actually metaphorical, because he's absolutely certain the beautiful woman is Bucky's subconscious, trying to get his head back in the game. Kind of literally. The million-dollar question is why the hell he's giving her—himself—such a hard time. "So, you dreamed about her twice, and then she started yelling at you from your case of stuff too?"

Bucky nods.

Tony hums and leans back. He taps out a random beat on the counter while he thinks it through. "Okay. Hear me out, 'cause this is probably going to sound really, really weird. You ready?"

Bucky looks a hell of a lot more tired than interested, but he nods.

"Great." Tony rubs his palms together. "The case I made you is full of random little things you picked up since you…." He balks, remembering that as far as Bucky's concerned he's still with Hydra. Telling him he escaped will probably just confuse and annoy him. "Since a couple years ago. So, every hotel key card or museum pamphlet or kid's bracelet has some kind of memory attached to it. Like, you know, where you got it and why you wanted it or whatever. Still with me?"

Bucky gives him another listless nod. "I don't remember anything I picked up."

"Yeah, I figured," Tony says quickly. "But…here's the thing." He takes a breath, trying to line up his thoughts into something a weary, angry amnesiac would understand. "I think you're remembering all that stuff subconsciously. Like, you made the woman up in your head without knowing it, to help your conscious brain remember. And since the case is pretty much _full_ of memories—as in, stuff that makes you remember things when you look at it—that's why you heard her calling you from inside it."

Bucky looks at him blankly. "What does 'remembering stuff subconsciously' mean? I never lost consciousness. I was asleep."

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. "Yeah. That's a great question. Um." He purses his lips. "J.A.R.V.I.S., what the hell is the subconscious?"

"The subconscious is the part of the mind that humans are not normally aware of, though it can influence your thoughts and actions," J.A.R.V.I.S. fills in smoothly. "It is generally assumed that what people experience in their dreams is a function of the subconscious communicating with the rest of the mind during sleep."

"Thanks, J." Tony beams at Bucky. "There you go. So, basically the part of your mind you're not aware of is telling the rest of your mind that you need to remember who you are."

"I know who I am," Bucky says. He's getting angry again; his eyes look like ice.

"Yeah, you do," Tony says, as gently as he can manage. "But, knowing your name is Bucky Barnes isn't the same as actually _remembering_ it, right? You've got so much—"

"NO I DON'T!" Bucky rockets to his feet. "I know who I am! I'm the Winter Soldier! No one else! There is no Sergeant James Barnes! There is no Bucky!" He smacks the stool with his left hand, sending it flying. Tony rears back so fast he just about pitches himself onto the floor. "I'm not human! _I'm not a person!_ _I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER!_ " He roars the last part loudly enough to make Tony wince.

Tony backs up off his stool, standing ready in case he has to run. 

Bucky watches him. His right hand is curved protectively against his chest, but his left is clenched at his side. He's practically vibrating with rage. "You all keep pretending that this op is real. But it's not. There is no Bucky." His voice has the dead calm of someone shoved so far past their limits they've tumbled down the fucking ravine. "I'm the Winter Soldier. I don't have memories. I don't have friends. I don't have a name. If I have no _missions,_ I'm nothing. Steve keeps saying he'll never take me to the Chair or put me back in Cryo, but he will. I know he will. I'm crazy and I can't go on missions. There's no reason to keep me."

For a moment Tony is so completely poleaxed that he can't do anything but stand there blinking. _Well that does sound a little crazy_ , he thinks inanely. He knows that's not fair or even true. As far as Bucky's concerned, this is his genuine reality. Tony might feel like his life is a dumpster fire from time to time; Bucky's just watched his entire world go up in flames.

Tony waits a beat, but Bucky doesn't say anything else, just stands glaring with hot death in his eyes. "All right. I hear you. You don't get why everyone—including this dream woman—says you need to remember things when you don't. And it's frustrating the hell out of you and making you really fucking angry." He thinks that's a little like something Pepper would say, and she's really good at this shit. God knows she's talked him down from the ledges in his head more than once.

He wishes she were with them very, very badly, and then is ferociously glad she isn't.

"I don't know what everyone wants from me," Bucky says. He sounds exhausted. Tony wants to hug him. "All I know is that the woman is real. The voice is real." He makes a noise too awful to be a laugh, then scrapes his fingers through his hair and leaves them linked on the back of his head. "But Steve thinks I'm crazy. And everyone else wants me to be Bucky Barnes."

"I'm sorry," Tony says. "None of this must make any sense to you."

When Bucky laughs this time, it's even more awful. "Got that right." He screws the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I just want to be left alone. Just…put me in Cyro already. Let me sleep. It's better than waiting. I thought it would be good, getting to pretend to be human. But I'm bad at it. Steve keeps doing things I don't understand, but I know I'm supposed to. He's always sad, and it's my fault, but I never know what I did wrong. I just…." He sighs. "Everything hurts. I just want to be left alone."

"Yeah. I can get why you would," Tony says. He walks to Bucky's stool, picks it up, then carries it back to the counter and sets it upright. "All that sounds pretty awful."

"I hate it," Bucky says. He eyes the stool, then sits down again. He puts his left elbow on the counter and rests his forehead on his hand, leaning heavily with his eyes closed like he's in pain. "I hate it, but it doesn't stop."

Tony carefully puts his hand on the back of Bucky's neck, kneading the tight muscles. Bucky lets out a small breath that Tony thinks means the touch is okay. "Can I ask you something, though? You don't have to answer."

"What?" Bucky says on a breath.

"What if…" Tony starts, "hypothetically—that means something that could happen, but hasn't—what if everyone was right? I mean, what if you really were Sergeant James Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky, who has regular memories and really lives with Steve as his friend and partner. What then?"

"I'm not Bucky," Bucky says.

"Come on," Tony cajoles him. "Work with me, here. I know you're smart enough." He ignores Bucky's self-derisive snort. "What if you were just like the rest of us, with your own history? Like…" He grimaces inwardly. "Like you were a handler too."

Bucky doesn't move, but Tony sees the way his back rises with his deep breath. He lifts his head, dislodging Tony's hand. He has a couple red lines in his forehead from his palm. It's adorably tragic.

He doesn't speak, but his eyes go distant as he thinks about it. "No punishment? Or Cryo?"

"Nope." Tony shakes his head. "None of that crap. You wouldn't get punished for anything. No freezer burn either."

Bucky turns his head to look up at him. "No Chair?"

"No Chair either. No Chair or Cyro or punishments. You have friends, a past you can remember, a place to live, missions with the Avengers… Everything you could want, basically." Tony lowers his voice, makes sure he doesn't sound like he's kidding. "How would that feel?" 

Bucky swallows. "Good," he says, very softly. "It would feel good."

God, the poor kid looks so sad. "All right," Tony says, still quiet. "Now, what if the woman in your dream could really give that to you? Like, if you take her hand, you'll get the life you wanted. Would you do it?"

"It will hurt," Bucky says, but he doesn't sound quite so much like that's a deal breaker anymore.

"Probably," Tony says. He's not going to tell Bucky his subconscious is wrong. "But, it's just pain. You know pain, Bucky." Natasha told Bucky that, back when they were trying to get alien maggots out of his arm. It's still true, even if Bucky doesn't remember hearing it. "You'll survive it, just like you always have. The question is, if the pain would be worth it. I think it would, but it's not my mind and it wouldn't be my pain. So, do _you_ think the pain would be worth it?"

Bucky runs his left hand up and down his right arm. Tony wonders if he's cold. "I don't know," he says. "I don't want to hurt anymore."

"You said everything hurts already," Tony reminds him gently. "And seriously, you're one of the bravest guys I've ever met. I've seen you in so much pain I don't know how you could've been conscious, let alone moving. But you got through it. You can get through this, too. I know you can. You actually know you can too. You just don't remember."

Bucky doesn't say anything.

Tony gives him another couple beats, then goes for broke. "'Way I see it, you have two choices: One, you do nothing and everything stays the same. You won't go on missions, Steve will think you're crazy, and you'll have a metal box that may or may not contain an angel-woman who shouts in your head. And everything will keep hurting. Like you said."

"Yeah," Bucky whispers.

" _Or,_ " Tony stresses the word, brightening his voice because this is the hopeful part, "the next time you dream about beautiful, demanding angels, you suck it up and take her hand and see what happens. Or you don't wait 'til bedtime and just open the case."

Bucky's mouth twitches unhappily. "Steve said there's nothing that could make a voice in there."

"Well, maybe he's right, and maybe he isn't. Why not find out?" Tony spreads his hands. "If there really isn't anything, at least you'll _know,_ right? And then maybe it'll be easier to fix. Believe me, you're not the only Avenger who's had hallucinations. But there are things that will help make them stop."

"I'm not hallucinating."

"Fine. You're not hallucinating," Tony says easily. "Then you'll find where the voice is coming from and you can prove it. Seriously, Bucky, what do you have to lose?"

"Everything," Bucky says it like it's an absolute fact. "I have everything to lose." He looks at Tony with bleak, empty eyes. "I'm not supposed to remember. If I do, they'll just take it away again. They'll take everything, like always. I won't remember any of this. I won't remember _Steve._ I won't have anything!"

"Whoa, hey, slow down. That won't happen." Tony tries to touch him, but as soon as he leans closer Bucky draws back. "I mean it. That's not going to happen."

Bucky scowls. "Hypothetically?"

"No. Not hypothetically," Tony says flatly. "Absolutely. That's not going to happen. And if—and _when_ —you have your memory back, you'll know that too."

"I don't know anything." Bucky scrubs his face with his right hand, bandage and all. "I'm tired. I'm just tired."

"You should get some sleep, then," Tony says. They both know that's not what Bucky means.

Bucky nods dully. He heaves in a breath like it's an effort, then hauls himself to his feet. He goes back to cradling his hand to his chest. "Thank you for the bandage."

"No problem," Tony says. "The bandage is waterproof, so you can wear it in the shower."

Bucky nods again. "Okay." He grimaces a little. "I'm sorry I scared you. I wasn't going to hurt you."

"I know." Tony knows that _now,_ so it's not quite a lie. "You were angry, I get it. You've had a pretty rough few days."

"Thanks." Bucky flicks a tiny smile at him, then makes a face, plucking at his still-damp tee-shirt. "I ruined your workout too."

"Eh." Tony shrugs. "It's all good. I came down here to tire myself out, and I'm definitely tired." He's exhausted, actually, but that's not Bucky's fault. Tony gives him as warm and real a smile as he can manage, in case Bucky's worried Tony's pissed at him. "And I don't have to take a shower now either. So, you actually did me a favor."

Bucky looks skeptical, but he just says, "Okay" and doesn't call Tony on it. Which is great, since it's now going on 4:00 am and Tony really doesn't want to have to convince Bucky that he's worth missing a workout for. 

"I'm gonna go back to Steve's qua—floor, and take a shower," Bucky says.

"Good idea. I'd also recommend a saltlick. That's a joke. Saltlicks are literally blocks of salt left out for animals to lick, to keep them healthy," Tony explains when Bucky just looks puzzled. "You were sweating a lot. So…maybe you need salt. It was a joke," he repeats lamely.

Bucky's grin is more polite than amused, but at least it's there. "I'll have some ramen…?" He looks like he's not sure if that's the right word, but then grins for real when Tony bursts out laughing.

Funny how little time it took for Tony to miss that smile. "Yes! Exactly. Saltlicks for humans." Tony reaches for Bucky, then claps him on the arm when Bucky doesn't move away. "Ramen and orange juice. But don't mix them."

"I don't think anyone would do that," Bucky says.

"Clint did once, but just once." Tony wants to hug him, but decides to quit while he's ahead. "C'mon. I'll walk you home."

"I know where to go," Bucky says, but he doesn't stop Tony from ambling beside him as they head to the elevator.

"Will you think about what I said?" Tony asks while they wait for the car.

Bucky looks away.

"Just think about it, that's all," Tony says. "It's your decision."

"I'll think about it," Bucky says.

"That's all I ask."

The car arrives with JARVIS's usual impeccable timing and they both get in. They ascend in silence. Tony would love to ask what Bucky's thinking, but he figures the kid's had more than enough heart-to-hearting and leaves him alone.

Bucky's the one who actually breaks the silence. "Hypothetically, would you be my friend?" His expression is carefully blank, but his gaze is fixed to the wall of the car. "For real, I mean. Not for the op."

It's pretty clear that this isn't a casual question. Good thing the answer's easy. "Yeah. Of course," Tony says, a little rough. He clears his throat. "I'm your friend. I would be, I mean. I would be your friend."

"Me too," Bucky says, and he gives Tony another real smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gonna be easy. I know it is. >.>


	10. The Exact Opposite of Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What's the difference?" Bucky demands. "It's like you_ want _me to be crazy! Wouldn't it be better if there really was a voice that could help me get my memory back? Why is it so important for you to be right?"_
> 
>  _"Because I am right!" Steve shouts. "Because what you're saying is_ impossible! _Your reality's already fucked up enough as it is, and I'm not going to pretend something's possible when it isn't and help you stay like this!" Steve gestures so violently at Bucky that he jerks away, even though Steve is nowhere near him. "I want you back! I want you to remember! Not…not be caught up in a fantasy world where there are voices coming out of fucking_ briefcases _that only you can hear! I don't want to watch you in agony for nothing! I don't want you to die for something that doesn't exist!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished chapter ten, everybody!
> 
> ::Laughs hysterically; bursts into tears and falls over::
> 
> The worst part is, I had this _entire chapter already written_ with the draft I thought (at the time) was final when I started posting. I think I ended up keeping three paragraphs.
> 
> The next time I even pretend that the subsequent chapter will be easy, someone smack me. Or refer me back to chapter ten, whichever's easiest.

Bucky gives Tony a wave and watches as the elevator doors close, leaving him at the entrance to Steve's quarters. He should go in, but he hesitates. Steve was awake when Bucky left. Bucky hopes he's sleeping now, because he doesn't want Steve to ask him about his hand. Steve said it's okay to be angry, but he never asked if hurting himself was permissible or not. His other handlers would allow it as long as the Winter Soldier could be completely functional within a few hours. But Steve's not like the other handlers.

Steve will probably be upset and disappointed with Bucky again. Bucky knows he deserves it, but he'd still rather not have to deal with it just yet.

He thinks about going back to the gym, or somewhere else in the Tower. He's allowed. But unless he can stay away from Steve until his hand heals, it's just delaying the inevitable. And Bucky wants to be with Steve, even if he's still angry at him. 

Bucky takes a breath and goes into the apartment and collapses under the onslaught of screaming in his head.

He can't _hear_ it, but it doesn't matter. It's like a siren wailing in every cell of his body. He's peripherally aware that he's on the floor with his fists clenched and his bent arms clasped tight to his head. It's so loud that he feels like his skull will burst. The pain from using his right hand is insignificant next to the noise.

Everything is insignificant next to the noise. He can't move. He can't _think_. He's almost sure he's begging: _Stop. Stop. Please!_ But he can't tell. He can't hear it. He can't hear anything besides the desperate, insistent screaming and screaming and _screaming—_

It stops.

The sudden lack of noise and pain is overwhelming. It takes him a second to realize someone else is speaking; that someone is holding him. He's not actually alone.

Bucky opens his eyes.

"Bucky? Bucky, it's Steve. Can you hear me? Answer me, please!"

"I can hear you, sir," Bucky says. He slowly uncoils, lowering his arms. They're in a stairwell. Steve is in sleep pants. He's not wearing a shirt or anything on his feet. He's carrying Bucky in that way Bucky doesn't hate but apparently should.

"Oh, thank God." Steve looks white with fear, the way he did when Bucky told him he couldn't remember the bear mission. He doesn't let Bucky go, but instead sits by sliding his back down the wall. Bucky ends up in Steve's lap with Steve hugging him like he's terrified something bad will happen if he doesn't. He cradles the back of Bucky's sweat-damp hair. His hand is shaking a little bit. "I heard you come in, and then fall like…." He swallows. "I thought you were dying."

Bucky leans his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve sighs in what sounds like relief. "I'm fine. It just hurt a lot."

He feels Steve's nod brushing his cheek. "I know. You were begging for it to stop." He takes a shuddering breath. "I was really scared."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." Steve kisses the top of Bucky's head. He moves his hand to run his palm up and down Bucky's back. "Was that the metal case?"

Bucky nods. "I'm not crazy."

"I never said you were."

"You don't have to say it."

Steve goes quiet, still rubbing Bucky's back. His chest presses against Bucky's side as he breathes. "I'm not thinking it, either. But I don't know what's happening to you. The way you collapsed…." His breath keeps shaking, like he can't stop being afraid. "I wanted to get rid of the case, but I didn't want to leave you. So I took you away from it instead. We're two floors above ours right now."

"Thank you. I feel better." It's true. Right now with the noise gone Bucky feels perfectly fine.

"I don't what to do about this, Buck," Steve says. There are tears in his voice. "I don't know what to do. The scans showed nothing. There was nothing wrong. But, you still have amnesia and this…thing in your head is getting worse. I don't know how to help you." 

Bucky lifts his head to look at Steve's troubled eyes. "You can get rid of the case?" He doesn't want Steve to do that, even if it's the most expedient way of solving the problem. He doesn't remember the case, but it's _his._ He doesn't want to lose something that everyone is at least pretending actually belongs to him. But his handler asked him how to help, and he'd do anything to take the misery out of Steve's big, worried eyes. This is the only thing he can think of that Steve can do.

"I thought about doing that," Steve says. "But, it's yours. Everything in there is important to you. Some things are probably irreplaceable."

"I don't remember any of it," Bucky says. "It'd be okay."

"You might not think so when you get your memory back."

"I'm not supposed to remember," Bucky says. It's exhausting, having to say it over and over again.

_What if you really were Sergeant James Barnes? What then?_

Steve closes his eyes and rubs the middle of his forehead. "I'm too worried to argue right now." He lifts his head. "Destroying the case won't solve the problem, either. You might start…hearing voices from other places, too."

Bucky gapes at him. "I thought you finally believed me!"

"I do believe you," Steve protests. He's using his gentle voice; it just makes Bucky angrier. "God, Bucky. How could I not believe you after this? But…you were injured. It's got to be that. Something happened and…maybe you're still recovering, instead of healed, and we just can't see it."

"I'm not crazy! Stop telling me I am!" Bucky shoves himself off Steve's lap. "Look at my hand." He shows him his right, still covered by Tony's bandaging.

"I saw it. Your hand's broken, isn't it?" Steve says. He looks exactly as upset and disappointed as Bucky thought he'd be. He takes Bucky's hand, holding it gently in both of his the way Tony did. "Why did you do that?"

Bucky pulls his hand back, leaves it on his thigh. "Because I was angry. That's why I wanted you to see it. I'm still angry. I want you to believe me but you don't."

"I know. I understand. You have reason to be angry," Steve says. "But you _broke your own hand._ "

Bucky shrugs. "I've done it before. Normally the handlers don't care as long as it's not too bad."

"Oh, God." Steve rubs his face with his palm. When he looks at Bucky again his eyes are wet. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I can't tell you what you want to hear. I'll get rid of the case if you want, Buck. If you really think that'll help. I'll do anything. But, please. Please don't hurt yourself again."

He's really saying he's sorry he thinks Bucky's crazy. It makes Bucky want to hit him. He thinks about squeezing his right hand with is left until he breaks something else, because it'll really upset Steve but it will keep Bucky from hurting him again. And he's so angry he's actually thinking about it.

Bucky moves along the wall until he's as far away from Steve as possible, making sure he doesn't lash out at him in fury.

"You're just like all the other handlers." It's the one thing Bucky can think of that'll hurt Steve as much as Bucky hitting him. "You said you wouldn't lie to me, but you do. It's all you do." Steve flinches. It's viciously satisfying. "You told me you believed me. You _just said it!_ I heard you! You can't tell me you didn't!" He doesn't realize he's balled up both his fists until the right starts aching. 

"I didn't lie!" Steve looks horrified. Good. "Bucky, I never lied to you. I do believe you! I know you're hearing a voice in your head! But that voice isn't real!"

" _YES IT IS!_ " Bucky yells. "It is! I'm not crazy! It's true! Why won't you _listen to me?_ "

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I am listening to you. And I do want to believe you. I really do. It's just…" He sighs. "Just because something feels like it's true doesn't mean it is. And there's nothing in the case that could scream in your head like that."

"So you think I'm crazy."

"No I don't! Damn it, Buck, you're like a fucking broken record!" Steve clenches his jaw the runs his fingers through his hair, calming himself down. "I don't think you're crazy. I think there's something else wrong with your head that we need to fix."

"What's the difference?" Bucky demands. "It's like you _want_ me to be crazy! Wouldn't it be better if there really was a voice that could help me get my memory back? Why is it so important for you to be right?"

"Because I am right!" Steve shouts. "Because what you're saying is _impossible!_ Your reality's already fucked up enough as it is, and I'm not going to pretend something's possible when it isn't and help you stay like this!" Steve gestures so violently at Bucky that he jerks away, even though Steve is nowhere near him. "I want you back! I want you to remember! Not…not be caught up in a fantasy world where there are voices coming out of fucking _briefcases_ that only you can hear! I don't want to watch you in agony for nothing! I don't want you to die for something that doesn't exist!"

"It does exist!" Bucky shouts back at him. He surges to his feet, slamming the side of his left fist into the wall. "I hate this! You never believe me!" The blow leaves a crumbled circle in the concrete. Bucky stalks to the stairs, going back to Steve's quarters. "I'll show you. I'll show you I'm right. The voice is real."

"Bucky!" Steve races after him. "Bucky, no! No! Stop! Please!" He grabs Bucky's arm. Bucky whirls, light-footed on the step, but stops himself before he punches his left hand through Steve's face. Steve doesn't even react to it. "Please. Don't do this. That thing…whatever you believe is happening, it almost killed you. I found you on the _floor,_ Bucky!"

"It's just pain! I know pain! I can handle it!"

"You said you didn't want more pain," Steve says tightly. "Isn't breaking your own hand enough?"

"It's not the same! I chose that! I'm choosing this too." It's like what Tony told him: _'Way I see it, you have two choices_ , and one of them is really no choice at all, is it? "I'm going to find out what's calling me from the case. And then you'll believe me."

Steve doesn't look angry now, just afraid. "You keep getting hurt. Your mind keeps getting hurt. I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

Bucky goes still. "Are you ordering me not to do this?"

"I…." Steve hesitates. Bucky steels himself, heart pounding. "What if it kills you? Bucky." Steve's still holding Bucky's right arm. He cups Bucky's face again; he's so upset that Bucky lets him. Steve's fingers are cold against his cheek. "I already lost you once. Please. Don't do this. Don't make me lose you again."

Bucky knows now that Steve doesn't pretend orders are questions; Steve is begging him.

_I wouldn't want to survive, if you weren't with me._

Oh.

"You really think this will kill me?" Bucky asks him.

Steve nods mutely.

Bucky puts his hand on Steve's, gently moves it and links their fingers together. He's not angry anymore. "You won't lose me, Stevie," he says. "I'll be fine." He doesn't know if that's true, but he needs it to be— _Steve_ needs it to be—so he says it anyway. "I'm not going to die. And if I'm right, then I'll…I'll be the Bucky you want again. It'll be okay." It's like he's the handler now, convincing the Asset to do what's best. It feels wrong but it's what Steve needs from him, so he does it. "You don't have to help. I can do it on my own." Bucky wants Steve with him, but he won't ask for it. Not with Steve already so scared. It's Bucky's job to protect him.

But, "Yeah, I do," Steve says. His smile is barely a flicker that gets nowhere near the misery in his eyes. "I love you. I'm not leaving you to face whatever this is alone. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

Those words feel significant; Bucky wishes he could remember what they mean.

* * *

Steve doesn't want Bucky to do this. The only things he's wanted to happen less was his mother's death and Bucky falling from the train.

He's not even sure what 'this' is, honestly, other than Bucky opening the metal case. Something so ridiculously simple shouldn't feel this menacing. But right now Steve's got Bucky's arm across his shoulders just to keep him upright. And Steve doesn't know what's happening to him, or why, but getting Bucky home feels like the exact opposite of helping. This feels like Steve's bringing Bucky somewhere to die.

Horrible as it is, Steve is actually hoping Bucky will pass out before they reach their floor. It'd give him an excuse to just get rid of the fucking metal box, end this once and for all.

( _Unless he'll just hear voices from somewhere else, despite what he told you,_ comes the distraught, overwhelmed whisper from the back of his mind. _Unless this isn't a war you can win, Stevie._

 _Unless you've already lost him for good, and this is when you can't deny it anymore._ )

Steve would rather die than lose him. But Bucky's already so lost, and it doesn't seem to matter how many days pass, or how much sleep or abundant food or kindness Bucky gets. He's not coming back. He's not remembering and now he's convinced a benign, inanimate object is hurting him.

Steve has no fucking idea why this is happening. He's not stupid, and he's not as arrogant or incredulous as Bucky maybe thinks he is. He fought the Red Skull and the Chitauri. He survived being frozen. His lover came back from the dead. Steve's dealt with, accepted things, he would never have believed if he hadn't lived it. He knows that it's remotely possible Bucky isn't just telling him the truth as he perceives it, but the truth as it actually is.

But it can't be. _It can't be._ No matter how much Steve might wish otherwise.

Because, sure, Loki stole Clint's will with a touch, and Color Guard and her sister made them relive their worst nightmares and greatest fears. Yes, fucking alien maggots caused Bucky so much agony he thought he was being tortured by Hydra. Steve was there. He knows that happened.

But all that misery was caused by real, tangible _things_. The harm they caused was tangible and could be undone. Clint was saved by Natasha. The paint wore off. Steve held Bucky still while Tony burned the maggots out of his arm.

The harm this supposed voice is doing isn't tangible, no matter what Bucky believes. There is no probable or possible cause for it. It'd be absurd if Bucky wasn't so obviously suffering. How do you solve a problem that isn't there?

Steve swallows, clutches Bucky closer to him. "You're going to be all right, Bucky. You'll be fine. You can get through this," he says, pretending to be a man who has hope.

Bucky doesn't answer, but he misses the next step completely. Only Steve's grip keeps him from crashing face-first to the landing. They're still one floor above their own. " _Bucky?_ "

"Need…a minute," Bucky gasps. He sounds like he's in the middle of a battle; maybe he is.

Steve sits them both down on the last stair. "Bucky? Are you okay?"

Stupid question. Of course he's not. Bucky leans heavily against him. "Hurts," he says. "Loud."

"This is crazy. You're killing yourself!" Steve gently disentangles himself. "It's not worth it. Wait here, I'm getting rid of it."

Bucky latches sightlessly onto Steve's arm. He's staring blankly at the wall. "'Can't hear you. Please don't leave."

"I need to do something!" Steve says loudly. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens the notetaker app. **I will tell Tony to get rid of case.**

Bucky reads the words with clear effort, then shakes his head. "Bring it here. Please."

Steve grits his teeth, types carefully so he won't break the phone. **Please don't make me do that.**

He could just say 'no'. He could order Bucky to leave this alone, and then have Tony lock the case up in the deepest basement level of the Tower. Hell, Steve would ask Tony to ship the damn thing to Siberia. Except he has a bad feeling that as long as Bucky knows the case still exists at all, he'll think it can hurt him. And if Steve destroys the case, will that only prolong the inevitable anyway?

_You've already lost him._

"Please, Stevie," Bucky says. "I'll be fine. I just…. Let me finish this. Please."

**I feel like I'm leading you back into Azzano.**

Bucky reads the message with dull eyes. "I don't know what Azzano is." He's talking too loudly, trying to hear himself. "But if we're going there, I chose to do it. This is my choice, Steve. If you love me so much, please let me do this."

That hits like a goddamn blow to the heart. Of course Steve recognizes those words. He remembers every single second of when he himself said them. He remembers exactly why. The only difference is that he was going to his death and he knew it. The sacrifice had been worth it. And with Bucky gone, he'd been at peace with not coming back.

Bucky's so certain he'll come back. Steve is so terrified that he won't. But Bucky's right: Steve loves him, and this is Bucky's choice. Steve can't do less than give him the dignity of it.

He takes a breath. "Okay. Okay, Bucky. I'll get it."

Bucky lets him go. "Thank you," he says. His smile is as remote and unfocused as his eyes. "'Best handler, Stevie."

Steve swallows. "I love you. I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," Bucky says.

* * *

The case Tony made looks exactly the same as the last time Steve saw it, which was when he thought it was the box Bucky dreamed about. It's silver and black and about the size of a thick briefcase, and Steve hates it so much he would gladly tear it apart with his bare hands.

But he said he'd bring it, so he carries it upstairs, dread lurching in his stomach with every step. He's so relieved to find Bucky's still conscious Steve could cry. Bucky gives Steve a wan, grateful smile that Steve can't return.

Steve sits next to Bucky on the step, putting the case on the floor between Bucky's legs. "You told me the passcode. It's your service number," he says loudly.

Bucky doesn't reply. Steve can't tell if he didn't hear him or is just incapable of answering. 

"Okay," Steve says. He puts in Bucky's service number, and the case clicks gently as the lock disengages.

Steve takes a breath and opens it.

The stairwell is instantly flooded with light, so bright that Steve cries out and throws up his arm to shield his eyes. It's coming from one of the bracelets, half-buried among the eclectic mix of genuine jewelry and bright plastic beads. The one that's glowing comes from Dr. Rodney McKay. 

McKay said the bracelet was made with materials unique to the homeland of his colleague. He'd asked Bucky to tell him if the crystal beads lit up for him or Steve.

They did, but the crystals also lit up for every one of the Avengers except Thor. Steve just assumed the bracelet was a prank, especially because they glow the brightest for Bucky.

The bracelet never glowed like _this_ , though. It sure as hell never lit up by itself. It's like someone shrunk a floodlight and shoved it halfway under a tangle of plastic beads.

"Oh, my God," Steve gasps. "How is it doing that? What's going on?"

Bucky doesn't answer, probably can't hear him. He fumbles for the bracelet with his left hand, uncharacteristically clumsy. The light doesn't fade when he picks it up the way it normally would. He squints at it, then claps it to the inside of his right forearm, wrapping his fingers around his arm to keep the bracelet in place. He gasps and stiffens, eyes going wide. But he doesn't move.

"Bucky?" Steve leans closer, hands hovering but with no idea of where or how he can touch. " _Bucky?_ What's happening? Are you okay?"

Nothing. No reaction. Steve might as well be talking to a statue. He has to concentrate to make sure Bucky's even breathing. He is: slow, deep breaths like he's asleep, but his eyes are wide open. They move like he's watching something, but there's nothing to see but the far wall. The bracelet glows bright, bright white between his metal fingers.

"Bucky!" Steve clasps his shoulder, shaking him. "Bucky, can you hear me? What's happening? Are you okay?"

"Stop. I'm okay, Steve," he says. He sounds detached, barely aware of what's happening, but at least he knows Steve is there. He's still transfixed by something only he can see, still almost unmoving except for his breathing and his eyes.

Steve yanks his hand back. "What's happening?" he asks again. "Bucky, please. Tell me what's going on."

"Stop talking," Bucky says in the same distant voice. "I need to hear it." He grits his teeth. Steve thinks it's in anger, until Bucky suddenly squeezes his eyes shut and cries out. He collapses against Steve, turning his face into the junction of Steve's shoulder and neck. Bucky's mouth is open, teeth sharp where they're pressed to Steve's skin. Bucky starts panting, making tiny, broken noises like he's in agony.

"Bucky!" Steve grabs for his metal hand, trying to pry up his fingers and take the bracelet away.

"No!" Bucky shoves him bodily, rearing away from him without changing his death grip on his right arm. He still has his eyes tight shut, grimacing in effort or pain. Blood runs down his arm from the beads digging into his skin.

Steve carefully wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him back to him. Bucky immediately lolls his forehead on Steve's shoulder, his breath fast and hot against his collarbone. Steve holds him only tightly enough to offer his presence, his strength if Bucky wants it. _I'm here. I'm here._ But he doesn't speak or try to touch the bracelet again. 

The light in Bucky's hand flares to blinding. Bucky cries out in a mix of pain and triumph, and then finally relaxes, panting. He lets go of his arm and his left hand drops heavily to his leg. The bracelet drops to the concrete. It's light goes out.

"Bucky?" Steve rubs Bucky's back. His tee-shirt is wet again, new sweat curling the hair on his neck. "Bucky, are you all right? What happened?"

Bucky just shakes his head wordlessly, his forehead rolling on Steve's shoulder.

"Bucky? Are you all right?"

Bucky breathing slows, then he finally moves back and lifts his head, blinking owlishly. "Stevie?"

Steve nods. "Yeah. It's me. I'm right here, Buck. What happened? Are you okay?"

"I remember," Bucky says, breathless with wonder and something too much like anguish. "I remember you. I remember everything." His eyes are wet. "Oh, God. Stevie, I'm sorry!" He throws himself into Steve's arms, hugging him tight. "I love you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Stevie."

Steve hugs him back just as fiercely, burying his sob of relief and gratitude against the side of Bucky's head. He doesn't know what's wrong, but it doesn't matter; they can fix it. Bucky knows him. He knows _himself_ ; Right this second there's nothing in the entire world that matters as much as that. "It's okay," Steve says. "There's nothing wrong. I love you too. You're here. You're here. You're here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have been wondering why I dedicated chapter 7 to the other SGA fans. This is why. ;D
> 
> I think I might actually have only one more chapter left! ::Laughs hysterically; bursts into tears and falls over::
> 
> (And yes, Steve has some apologizing to do.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> It has come to my attention that I should have put some info I have in the fic's end notes here, to avoid miserably confusing everybody.
> 
> SGA stands for [Stargate: Atlantis](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0374455/), my previous and much-beloved fandom. One of the many things I loved about the show was the occasionally wacky, occasionally deadly, and occasionally extremely useful alien tech.
> 
> Dr. Rodney McKay and the bracelet are in [As Big and Bright as the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3707173), which is story #12 in this series.


	11. The Bravest Thing of All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I can't lose you again," Steve gasps. He clings to him, fists in the back of Bucky's shirt. "You didn't know me. You were_ gone _and you didn't know me and…I can't do that again, Buck. I can't go through that again. Please don't make me do that. Don't forget me. Please don't forget me anymore."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't actually have to rewrite every single word of this! I'm excited. :D
> 
> You may have noticed that this is now chapter 11/12, as opposed to 11/11. Fear not, those of you who now suspect I don't have an ending for this thing, because I do! I've even written it!
> 
> And for everyone who commented that they were hoping for clarification about the bracelet, this should shine a little light on the subject. So to speak. ;) There will be further illumination in the next chapter as well.
> 
>  **Please note:** This chapter has some intense internalized victim blaming.

Steve wants to drag him to the medical suite _again_ to get his head examined. Bucky insists on having a shower first. Not to prolong the inevitable—because he remembers what the fuck the medical suite is, thanks—but because he's got about six gallons of dried sweat all over him.

Steve's worried he'll get woozy this time too, but Bucky politely refuses his help by basically shutting the door in his face. He's not going to collapse. He's definitely not going to break the sink again and end up in a sniveling heap on the floor. Because he's fine.

He's so fine that he doesn't put his metal fist through the mirror when he catches a glimpse of himself and all he can see are those big, scared cow eyes blinking stupidly back at him.

He sneers at his reflection instead, then ignores it as he scrapes the water out of his hair. He needs to cut it again. Why the hell did he let it get this long anyway? It's practically the same as before he escaped Hydra. It's not like he needs a fucking reminder. What's wrong with him?

Bucky's tempted to take the scissors to the rat's nest mop right there, only he's angry enough he figures he'll crop it to his skull and he'll probably regret that later. Instead he combs it so it at least looks neat for once, then goes and gets dressed in his bedroom like a fucking adult who has his own clothing.

He automatically pulls his moose hoodie off the hanger and then just stands there staring at it.

He can't put it on. It's his favorite shirt, but now the idea of wearing it is so repulsive he almost rips the fucking thing apart. And then the idea of not being able to wear his _favorite shirt_ anymore is so infuriating he wants to march back into the bathroom and pound the mirror into shards. In the end he just leaves the hoodie on the bed. He'll decide what to do with it later.

Steve took his own shower in the guest bathroom, which pisses Bucky off too. "Why didn't you wait and use ours?" he snaps at Steve and his stupid damp tee-shirt and still-dripping hair.

Steve blinks at him. "I didn't want to take the time. Is that a problem?"

"It's not. Never mind." Bucky stalks to the entranceway and shoves his feet into his sneakers. "We going or what?"

"I was going to make breakfast first. Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve looks confused, and then he looks concerned. "Is this about you apologizing?" He's got his gentle voice again. Bucky wants to scream at him. He's not going to fall apart if Steve uses fucking _tone_. "'Cause I told you—"

"I remember what you told me. I can remember shit now, yeah?" Bucky doesn't quite snarl. "You understand why I thought you were my fucking handler and why I didn't trust you. You don't blame me. I was brain damaged. Whatever. It's done. End of story. This has nothing to do with that. Can we just get going, please? I want to get this done before I actually drop dead of old age."

"Okay, that's enough." Steve crosses his arms and glares. "It's pretty damn obvious that you're pissed as hell about something but I don't know…." He uncrosses his arms and now he looks guilty, for fuck's sake. "Is it because I didn't believe you? Is _that_ why you're angry? Because you're right. You have every reason to be furious with me about that. I was completely wrong and I should've listened to you. I just couldn't imagine how—"

"I _know_ ," Bucky says. Then he takes a deep breath, forcing the anger out of his voice. "I know, Stevie. It's okay." He pastes on a smirk. "Hell, I wouldn't've believed myself either, spouting that _X-Files_ crap. I already said I forgive you, and I meant it. All is forgiven. No harm, no foul. All right?"

Steve smiles back, but he doesn't look convinced. "Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really." It's true; he's fine. "I'm just tired. McKay's friendship bracelet took a lot out of me and my broken hand hurts and I just want to get this over with."

"Oh, of course." Steve puts his hand on Bucky's arm, smiling sympathetically. "Well, hopefully this won't take too long. And then we can come back here and I'll make you breakfast and you can crash. How does that sound?"

"You don't got to coddle me, Stevie." Bucky hauls up another smile, makes his voice light like it's a joke. It is, mostly. "I remember how to feed myself and everything."

"Well, maybe I want to coddle you a little." Steve grins. "Ever think of that, jerk?"

"You're the one who has the problem with thinking, punk," Bucky says. The comeback's so easy it's nearly automatic. He knows how to do this. This is _him._ This is his goddamn brain finally working right. "But sure, I'll let you peel me a grape if it'll make you happy."

Steve looks so goddamn delighted at Bucky insulting him that he kind of wants to put his one working fist through the wall.

* * *

At least this time the MRI only makes him anxious instead of terrified.

Bucky tells Steve he's fine (because he _is_ ), so Steve doesn't have to stay in the room. Steve wants to anyway, of course. But Bucky's not some…. He's not damaged anymore. He can handle 20 minutes in Stark's MRI.

It's still not as okay as it was the last couple times he needed a MRI before the bear clobbered him. He doesn't fall asleep despite how tired he is. The memories of Cryo are still a little too close to the surface for that.

That's what Bucky _really_ fucking hates. He was _normal._ He was _happy._ And then he has to get chased off a damn cliff and he's right back to concentrating on breathing and thinking pleasant thoughts and all that shit. Now how long is it gonna have to be before he feels good again? Why can't he be done with the fucking setbacks already and just be _okay?_

By the time the scan's finally finished he's seething. At least it's better than being scared. 

The scans don't look any different, which is a relief. For a while there in the stairwell it felt like his brain was going to explode. Bucky imagines his head bursting like a dropped melon, then has to explain to both Steve and the doc what he thought was so funny.

Neither of them think it's funny.

Neither of them understand what the hell McKay's friendship bracelet did to him either, which is fair because Bucky has a hell of a time trying to explain it. The best he can come up with is that the woman from his dreams used the bracelet to call to him, and he followed her voice home.

She was just really, really insistent about it. And really loud.

"Okay. But, why?" Dr. Orazow asks. She smiles, shaking her head. "Not that I'm complaining in the least, but—leave alone the _how_ , which I know better than to even attempt to understand—why would something that only lit up when you touched it suddenly know you needed help? And not only that, but then actually do something about it? Not to mention so…adamantly as to cause you physical pain?"

Bucky's glad it's her and not Dr. Kabir. He remembers now that he's seen both of them regularly for a while, but Kabir agreed with Steve that Bucky was crazy. Bucky meant what he said; he knows why he was so hard to believe. Hell, he was pretty much nutso at the time. He forgave Steve and Kabir already.

It's just….Dr. Kabir would want to apologize, and Orazow doesn't have to. Bucky doesn't feel like dealing with more apologies. He just wants to put all of this behind him and not have to think about it again.

Unfortunately, that doesn't make Orazow's question any easier to answer.

"No fucking idea, doc," Bucky says honestly. "It was like…when it was happening…" He squints, parsing out the memory through the haze of light and pain. "She said I was…one of her children. And she needed me to be whole."

"Seriously?" Steve stares at him. "That makes no sense. Your mom was Winnifred Barnes."

"No shit." Bucky shrugs. "None of it makes sense. I'm just telling you what I heard in my head."

"Why would Dr. McKay send you a bracelet that thinks it's your mom?"

"How the hell should I know?" Bucky demands, exasperated. "The only other stuff he sent me was papers on wormholes. The bracelet was just supposed to light up!"

"I think maybe those questions might be better answered by your friend or S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D," Dr. Orazow says diplomatically. "In the meantime, Sergeant, I'm almost certain I can officially say your amnesia's been cured." She smiles again, but this time it's apologetic. "I just want to make sure we haven't missed anything."

Making sure 'we haven't missed anything' means Steve asks Bucky the memory questions, so he can't be all wiley and pretend he knows stuff he doesn't. So Bucky has to tell them how he and Steve met ("Steve was getting the tar beat out of him in an alley. I walked by, saw it and laughed my ass off. Yes, I was joking. I stepped in and saved you because I am a fine, upstanding citizen."); Steve's first pet ("Uh, cockroaches? You couldn't afford pets, Steve."); and where he and Steve had their first kiss. ("Seriously? No, Steve. That's private. I'm not telling her that.")

It's good enough, and Dr. Orazow lets him leave with the usual post-head injury/wacky unknown technology warnings. Bucky doesn't exactly ignore them, but he doesn't pay a hell of a lot of attention either. He knows he's fine.

Except: Steve takes Bucky's hand on the way back to their suite, and for a second Bucky's sure he's going to be dragged somewhere and punished. He remembers everything; It's just that he's had handlers longer than he's had Steve.

 _I know how easy it is to revert,_ Natasha said that. He remembers her saying it. He had no clue what she meant at the time, but he does now. And, yeah. Too fucking easy.

A nurse splinted and rebandaged Bucky's right hand. It's almost healed anyway, but he can't go back to the gym for at least another ten hours. That sucks, because he really, really wants to hit something.

"Are you okay, Bucky?"

Bucky smirks, pretending Steve's hovering solicitousness is cute so he won't bite his head off for it. "Never better."

Steve stops walking, tugs on Bucky's hand to make him stop too. "Okay, now I know that's a lie. What's wrong?"

"I'm _fine,_ Steve. Really," Bucky pulls Steve until he follows him the rest of the way to the elevator. J.A.R.V.I.S is kind—the car is already waiting and open. "I'm just tired. The bracelet took a lot out of me."

"Does your head still hurt?" Steve cups the side of Bucky's face. "What you said before about melons sounded really bad."

"It was funny."

"No it wasn't," Steve says as they leave the elevator. "Is your head hurting? 'Cause I can go back to the medical suite and get you something. I don't mind."

"I'm fine," Bucky says. "Hey, do you want some hot chocolate?" he kicks his shoes off and goes into the kitchen. Last thing he wants is another interminable conversation about his fucking head.

Steve follows him in. "Yeah, that sounds good. We should have some real food too, though." He grabs the bread and a couple plates. "Is peanut butter and honey again okay?"

"Sure." Bucky is spooning the hot chocolate mix into their mugs, so he doesn't have to look at Steve's face. It's a stupid thing to ask. Of course it's okay. Bucky likes honey and peanut butter. He fucking bought the peanut butter. It's just that the last time he ate it he still thought he was the Winter Soldier. And it was so pathetic, him sitting snuggled next to Steve on the couch, thinking that fucking honey and peanut butter was the best thing ever, because he was such an idiot he had no idea there could ever be anything else—

"Bucky?" Steve sounds concerned. Again. "What's wrong?"

"Stop asking me what's wrong!" Bucky snaps, then grits his teeth when Steve bobs back in shock. "Nothing's wrong, all right? I'm _fine!_ I'm me. I'm not the fucking Winter Soldier anymore. My head's fine. Everything's fine. So just. Stop. Asking."

"That might be a little easier to believe if you hadn't just mangled the spoon," Steve says.

Bucky looks at his hand. The spoon handle is bent in half between his metal fingers. "Fuck!" He bends it more-or-less straight again and throws it into the sink. He looks at the mugs and still-open jar of hot chocolate mix and wants to sweep everything onto the floor. Instead he dumps the powder in the mugs back into the jar, rinses them out and puts them in the dishrack.

"What are you doing?"

Bucky shoves the jar back into the cupboard and slams the door. "'Decided I don't want any."

"I wanted some," Steve says. He's controlling his temper. Bucky can tell by how careful his voice is. It just makes Bucky angrier.

"Then get it yourself." He stalks out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Steve follows him again, like Bucky can't go anywhere without God damned supervision. "I'm making us food. Aren't you hungry?"

"Nope." Of course he is; he hasn't eaten since before they went to Dr. Kabir. But now the idea of peanut butter and honey sandwiches makes Bucky want to puke. "I'll get something later. I'm going to the gym." He can't work out in what he's wearing, so he goes back to the bedroom.

Of course Steve follows him there too. "You can't work out with your hand hurt and no food. Bucky, come on! What the hell's going on with you? Bucky! Stop ignoring me!" Steve grabs his arm.

" _Let me go!_ " Bucky wrenches out of Steve's grip. "You're not my handler! Don't touch me!"

Steve steps away from him immediately, hands up. "I'm sorry. That was out of line. I'm not your handler and I should never have treated you like I was. But, I'm worried, Buck. You keep insisting you're fine, but you're not. It's obvious you're really angry, but I don't know what's wrong."

Bucky clenches his teeth. "Stop worrying about me."

"I can't." Steve stares at Bucky like he can't believe Bucky wouldn't get that. "I love you. Of course I'm going to worry about you. And when you're furious about something but won't tell me why, I'm definitely going to worry. So, will you please tell me what it is so I can help you fix it?"

" _You can't fix it!_ " Bucky yells. "How the hell're you gonna fix what they did to me, huh? Get a time machine? Go back and kill me before I turn into that disgusting, sycophantic piece of shit?" He's said too much; he can tell by the slow horror creeping across Steve's face. Well, it's too late to take it back and it's true anyhow. "I'm sorry you had to…deal with that, okay? It makes me sick, knowing that you saw that pathetic waste of skin. But you did. You fucking did and now you think you can _fix_ it?" His laugh is a grotesque creak. "I wish I had a fucking time machine. I'd sure as hell go back and beat the shit out of him."

"Oh, my God, Bucky. No!" 

"What?" Bucky snarls. "It's true. He deserves it. You saw him!"

"I saw _you,_ " Steve says, same horror on his face. "Bucky, that was _you._ How can you talk about hurting yourself like that? How could you possibly think you deserve it?"

"How could you not? You were there! You saw it! You saw that—" Bucky swallows. He really does feel like puking. He fights it down. He's not going to humiliate himself in front of Steve again. "I followed you around like a kicked puppy. I would've licked my own blood off your boots, if that's what you wanted me to do." He's done that; he hopes to God Steve never finds out about it. "So grateful for a fucking sandwich and a glass of milk." He sneers. "Too stupid to know I'm a person, cringing and going to my fucking _knees_ every time you looked at me cross-eyed…." He smirks, nothing remotely like humor in it. "Yeah, no clue why I'd want to put my fist through that face, huh?"

"No, Bucky, I don't. I really don't." Steve comes closer and his hands twitch like he wants to reach out but he keeps them at his sides. Bucky's glad. The idea of someone's hands on him right now makes his skin crawl. "Is that what you were apologizing for, in the stairwell?" Steve asks quietly. "You said it was for not trusting me. But, it's because you think…." He winces, like he can't even say it. "It's because of what you told me just now, isn't it?"

Bucky nods. His anger's gone, smothered by shame. "I was apologizing for not trusting you too." His voice sounds like gravel. "But…I would've done anything to keep you from seeing me like that. I'm sorry, Stevie."

"Oh, Bucky. Sweetheart," Steve breathes. "Can I tell you what I saw? What I really saw? Not what you think I did? Will you let me?"

Bucky shrugs. "Knock yourself out.

Steve smiles, but his eyes go soft and sad in a way that Bucky knows means he's barely holding himself together. Which makes Bucky feel even worse. "What I saw was how brave you were. How incredibly, unbelievably brave."

"Dropping to my damn knees every two minutes ain't brave, Stevie."

"Yes it is," Steve responds instantly, in the Captain America voice that you don't argue with. "I always knew you had more courage than any of us. But to see it there, under those circumstances…." He shakes his head in wonder like he's describing a miracle, not Bucky's humiliation. "I saw how terrified you were. Of course I did. Hydra had hurt you so badly for so long that pain was the only thing you expected. You were sure that any second I'd turn on you, because that's all you knew. You couldn't understand kindness. Hell, you didn't even know you deserved to be treated with basic human decency."

"I didn't know I was human," Bucky says.

"Yeah," Steve says, rough. "Hydra did that to you. They hollowed you out, Bucky. Buried your own personality so deep you couldn't remember you were as human as they were, that you didn't—that you _never_ —deserved what those sons of bitches did to you. But even after all that, even after all the torture, and deprivation, and fucking _breaking your eardrums—_ " Steve stops, swallowing heavily like now he's trying not to be sick either.

"It's okay, Stevie." Bucky automatically puts his hand in Steve's, and the look Steve gives him is so surprised and grateful that Bucky can't meet his eyes.

"It's not okay, Buck," Steve says. He links their hands, his warm, flesh and blood fingers nestled between Bucky's metal ones. "What they did to you will never be okay. But you survived it. And you were so brave."

Bucky shakes his head. "All I can remember is the fear. I would've done anything, so they didn't hurt me. I _did_ do anything, so they wouldn't hurt me."

"That's what I mean," Steve says. "All you knew was fear. So every time you dared to express an opinion or argue with me, or every time you made your own food, or told me 'no', or said you didn't understand…how much courage did that take, talking back to your own handler?"

"A lot," Bucky rasps. He looks away again, down at their clasped hands. There's so much deadly purpose caged in the metal of his arm. He could have killed them all, at any time. It never even occurred to him to think about it. "I was sure you'd punish me. Put me back in the box, take me to the Chair, have me whipped…." He smirks, bitter as the memory of blood in his mouth; all the hits where he could've fought back but was too conditioned not to. "All of the above."

"But you did it anyway," Steve says, adamant. "You even _shoved_ me. You were sure the consequences would be unspeakable, but you stood up for yourself anyway. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen. You did that when Hydra had you too, didn't you?"

Bucky shrugs. "Still went to my knees for 'em."

"Even that was brave. You could've fought. You could've begged, but you didn't."

"There was no point," Bucky sighs. "Begging never changed a damn thing. Fighting just made it worse."

"In that case…" Steve swallows. His mouth lifts into a tragedy shaped like a smile. "In that case, just the fact you're still here is maybe the bravest thing of all."

"I hated being scared all the time," Bucky says. "I was so angry, but I had to…shove it away so they wouldn't know. I wanted to trust you. I really did. You let me be angry. That was…." He shakes his head. The depth of that gift is impossible to explain. "I felt safe with you. But Handlers always lied to me, so I thought you lied too. I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough."

"The fact you trusted me at all is amazing, Bucky," Steve says. "I mean it," he adds when Bucky can't hide the self-derision in the quirk of his mouth. "You had no reason to. But even when you thought I'd betrayed you, you still had faith in me. And…" He hesitates, like he's steeling himself. "And I ended up betraying you anyway, didn't I?" he asks, stricken.

"No, Stevie. Come on," Bucky says. "It wasn't like that. You had a damn good reason not to believe me. I told you, I wouldn't've believed me either."

"It was exactly like that," Steve says. "And maybe I had a good reason not to believe you, but it wasn't good _enough._ And I will never forgive myself for not believing you. I should have. I wanted to. But…I couldn't. I was so scared that if I…if I encouraged you, it'd just make it worse. And you'd never recover and you'd never come back—"

His voice cracks, and breaks, and then Steve starts to cry. He reaches for Bucky like he's drowning, and Bucky immediately hauls him into his arms.

"I can't lose you again," Steve gasps. He clings to him, fists in the back of Bucky's shirt. Steve can barely speak for the sobs wracking him. Bucky hasn't seen him weep like this since his mom died. "You didn't know me. You were _gone_ and you didn't know me and…I can't do that again, Buck. I can't go through that again. Please don't make me do that. Don't forget me. Please don't forget me anymore."

"Oh, God, Stevie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't want to forget you. I never wanted to forget you," Bucky says. "I swear, you'll never lose me like that again. I promise I won't ever forget you." He has no idea if that's a vow he can keep, but he'll do every single goddamn thing he can to try. "I'll ask Tony to make me a helmet."

He's completely serious, but for some reason Steve starts laughing. There are still tears in it, but Steve's embrace loses some of its desperation, even if it's just as tight. "If you're willing to get helmet hair, you must really love me."

"I love you so much it hurts," Bucky says. And he knows exactly what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the story where Bucky gets the bracelet and meets Rodney McKay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3707173), for anyone who may have missed it. :)
> 
> We're almost at the end of the journey, everyone! Thank you for forging the WIP wilderness with me!


	12. Epilogue: McKay's Nuclear Migraine Friendship Bracelet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky's hair is still a mess, and he's in his damp uniform undershirt with his socked feet sticking out the bottom of his pants, carrying his helmet like a kitten. And he's still the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen; and the strongest, most courageous man he's ever known._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! The last chapter.
> 
> I want to make sure you all know how much I've enjoyed and appreciated your comments, and just the fact that you've all stuck with me through the last eleven chapters. I promised a happy ending, and I hope this delivers. ( **I** think it's happy, but we've already established that my 'happy' doesn't always match everyone else's XD).
> 
> I've never posted a WIP in this fandom before, and it was nerve-wracking but a lot of fun. I have an idea for another one (a standalone this time), which should be equally fun and nerve-wracking (and angsty! Because ME), but I want to write more for my [Soldiers of Fire and Shadows](http://archiveofourown.org/series/460585) series first.
> 
> Thank you all again. I write for you. ♥

Bucky unbuckles his boots and toes them off next to their door, then saunters into the kitchen still in his dark blue Avengers jacket with his helmet tucked under his arm. He must've pulled it off in the elevator, because his hair is a ridiculous, sweat-damp mess.

Steve, who's at the counter making coffee, doesn't laugh. Which is solely because he loves Bucky more than anything. "Good practice?"

His smile is probably a bit too innocent, because Bucky gives him a mild glower and immediately runs his fingers through his hair. "Yes, it was a good practice, asshole. Thank you for asking."

Steve chuckles, then schools his face back into big-eyed guilelessness when Bucky frowns at him. Bucky's hair is a lot shorter than it used to be, which means it's now standing up in even more ridiculous clumpy spikes.

Steve gives in and starts laughing. "Maybe you should have a shower."

"Maybe you should quit being a dick," Bucky suggests pleasantly.

"But you look so cute with your hair all—Ow!" Steve yelps and squints as Bucky flashes the light from his bracelet in Steve's eyes.

"Ha! Take that! Ten points!" he crows.

"You don't blind antelopes!" Steve protests. "That's cheating!"

"Says who?" Bucky sets his helmet down as softly as a kitten on the table, then makes sure the goggles are fastened securely above the brim. Tony made it to resemble a more substantial version of a pilot's helmet from World War II. Bucky never wore one of those of course, but he looks just as heroic and dashing in it as Steve thought he would. And since Tony made it, Bucky could probably have a tank run over his head and not notice. He doesn't actually pet the thing as he goes to the fridge, but the way he runs his fingers over it is close. Steve has no idea why Bucky's so fond of something that makes him look goofy (albeit adorably so) the second he takes it off, but he's not going to complain.

There's not a hell of a lot about Bucky that would ever make Steve complain.

"Says everyone?"

"If Natasha can use her Widow's Bites on Clint, then I can use McKay's friendship bracelet," Bucky says decisively. He grabs the bottle of orange juice from the fridge, hip checks the door closed, then unscrews the cap. "How was your session?" he asks before drinking straight out of the bottle.

Steve smiles wanly. "This might surprise you, but I'm kind of messed up."

"At least you're pretty." Bucky tosses the now-empty bottle into the sink and goes to get himself a coffee. "Seriously, though. You okay?"

Steve shrugs, looking down at his mug. It's navy blue with the gold Howling Commandos' wing on it; another gift from Tony. Sometimes Steve wonders if Tony's using him and Bucky as a vicarious memorabilia collection, but it's not like he or Bucky mind.

He didn't grab this mug randomly today. Bucky probably knows that. "I started bawling in the psychologist's office again, so…yes and no?"

"Hey. If you needed to, you needed to." The way Bucky says it so casually makes Steve feel a little better, somehow. Less embarrassed, despite how he knows sometimes tears are necessary. Bucky looks over his shoulder as he grabs a mug from the cupboard. "Did it help, though? The whole thing, I mean."

"Yeah." Steve nods. "Yeah, it really did." He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had no idea I was so fucked up over you not remembering me, back in 2014. I mean, I'm not as fucked up _now_ , but…."

"I hear you, believe me." Bucky sits down at the table and takes a sip from his mug. It's the one Thor brought them, which Steve has officially renamed the Octopus Tree Mug, at least in his head. Bucky avoided it for weeks, after he got his memory back. Just like he's left his moose hoodie in the closet and cut his hair. Steve doesn't know if Bucky chose this cup deliberately or if he grabbed it at random and then didn't care. Either way, it's hopeful. "I didn't know I still…" He grimaces. "Hated myself so much. I mean, I know I was a victim, not an accomplice. But part of me still feels like I let them do it. Even though I know I didn't."

Steve reaches across the table and puts his hand over Bucky's. It's not the first time either of them have talked about this: the darkness they'd ignored inside them until Bucky's injury dragged it into the light. It's like a sore tooth neither of them can stop prodding, with the shock of it as new and painful every time. "We're both getting through this, Buck. We're going to be okay."

Bucky nods, but he slumps with his chin on his palm, glowering at the octopus mug. "I want to be okay _now._ " He turns his hand over underneath Steve's so he's cradling Steve's palm. Bucky's bracelet glows warmly, as if it's happy he did that. "I don't like going to the counsellor. She makes me talk about shit. I hate talking."

"Me too," Steve says soberly. "Talking to you is the worst."

Bucky laughs. "Yeah, I can't stand talking to you either. Fucking punk. Making fun of my hair."

"I love your hair, you jerk. It's like freshly-watered grass."

"Oh my _God._ " Bucky gives him an impressively dramatic eyeroll. "I hate you."

Steve slaps his hand over the bracelet before Bucky decides to blind him with it again. "Your mom bracelet loves me." He has no idea if that's true, but Bucky's convinced the bracelet is not only sentient but that it likes Steve a lot. Steve's giving him the benefit of the doubt this time.

This time and forever, Steve will always give Bucky the benefit of the doubt. 

The bracelet's soft glow brightens beneath his fingers, like it approves.

Bucky scowls. "It's not a 'mom bracelet'. It's a _friendship_ bracelet." He perks up. "Hey, wanna see something cool?" He pulls his hand out from under Steve's and turns off the bracelet's light, then rests his elbow on the table. He concentrates, and the crystal beads glow again. They start flashing, in a slow but steady rhythm.

It's definitely familiar. "Is that your pulse?"

"Yup." Bucky beams. "It can do Morse Code, too." The glow fades. "Basically anything I want with the light."

"That's neat." Steve puts his fingers over the bracelet, watching as it lights up again. That's still all he can do, but Bucky's been able to control it ever since it helped get his memory back. "Did McKay respond to your email about your mom bracelet yet?"

"It's not a—" Bucky huffs. "No, he didn't respond to me yet." He leans back and runs his fingers through his hair again. "You're just jealous because she said I'm her kid."

"Yes, Bucky," Steve says, deadpan, "I'm jealous of a bracelet that has claimed you as one of her offspring." He cocks his head, blinking. "Do you think it's because of your arm? Oh! Maybe she'd adopt Iron Man, too." He snaps his fingers, making his eyes very big. "Or the toaster! You always wanted a brother, right?"

"Everyone knows the toaster's a girl," Bucky scoffs. He drains his cup, slides his chair back and stands, tucking his helmet under his arm. "I'm going to take a shower. You can stay here and pretend you're funny."

"Don't have to pretend if it's _true_ ," Steve says.

"Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that, punk." Bucky puts the mug in the sink. "Hey, you washed my moose hoodie after you borrowed it, right?"

Steve blinks, then he grins. "Yes I did. I put it back in the closet."

"Swell," Bucky says. "All right, shower time. Later, tater."

"Hey, Buck?"

Bucky stops, turns around. "Yeah?"

His hair's still a mess, and he's in his damp uniform undershirt with his socked feet sticking out the bottom of his pants, carrying his helmet like a kitten. And he's still the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen; and the strongest, most courageous man he's ever known. "I'm really glad you're here, Bucky," he says.

Bucky beams at him. "I know, Stevie," he says. "I know you are. Me too."

* * *

_Bucky,_

_Sorry it's taken me so long to reply. I was unavoidably detained by something that hasn't been declassified yet. Suffice to say my team will give that particular area wide berth in future._

_Your recent injury sounds terrible. I'm very glad you seem to have come through it all right. If you were John, I'd say something about how few brains you have available to lose. Since you're not, let me say sincerely that we are all lucky your brains weren't splattered all over the bottom of the ravine. You have a rare mind and it would be a tragedy to lose it._

_That said, I would have naturally dismissed your claim about your 'Nuclear Migraine Friendship Bracelet' out of hand (and it's not a friendship bracelet!), except what you described is similar to things some of us have experienced ourselves, myself included. You are, believe it or not, not the first person who's had their memory restored by technology meant to do something else entirely. (Yes, I'm talking about me. We should form a club.)_

_Brain surgery with power tools should always be done by a trained medical professional, btw. In case Tony gets any ideas._

_The fact that the bracelet said you were one of her children is intriguing, to say the least. But not as intriguing as how ALL OF THE AVENGERS EXCEPT THOR CAN MAKE THE BRACELET LIGHT UP AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME. It wasn't a 'prank', Barnes. It was a serious scientific inquiry! I am extremely disappointed in you. And you can tell Captain America that I'm extremely disappointed in him, too._

_Per this being a serious scientific inquiry, I'm going to put in an official request for you and your horrid boyfriend to get the clearance to come here, so we can run some tests and see what's going on with the bracelet. I'll keep you posted._

_I really am glad you're all right. Let me know if you need a better helmet. Actually, scratch that. I'll have one ready for you when you get here. I should probably make one for John as well._

_Yours,_

_Rodney_

_P.S.: Tell Tony that helmet had better protect you from anything short of a direct hit by a meteor._

_**P.P.S.: I'm glad you're okay too. Amnesia's a bitch. Rodney was v. worried. – John** _

_**P.P.P.S.: Still a friendship bracelet. :)** _

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, I'd forgotten (IRONY!) that John Sheppard and Rodney McKay have both had amnesia in _Stargate: Atlantis_ canon. Both of them in the aptly-titled [Tabula Rasa](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Tabula_Rasa) and Rodney alone in [The Shrine](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/The_Shrine). The Atlantis Expedition does re-purpose Ancient (i.e.: vastly superior alien) technology to save the day each time, but I was actually referring to my fic [The Fundamental Things](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3087743).
> 
> Don't try brain surgery with power tools at home, kids. Leave that to the professionals.
> 
> Bucky's heroically dashing helmet looks like [this (for the color)](https://imgur.com/SRao5rJ) and [especially this](https://imgur.com/TmBwvg8) for the leather pieces that hang over the ears (you can tell I'm real up on the lingo, eh?). 
> 
> I knew I forgot something! [The 'Lions and Antelopes' game.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4148961) Steve's just a sore loser.
> 
> (And, yes, the Stucky will be going to Atlantis.)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a [Kings TV series](https://www.nbc.com/kings?nbc=1) [kick lately,](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Kings%20\(TV%202009\)/works) which led me to "The Unwritten Book of Jack". That story reminded me of a _Stargate: Atlantis_ fic I read years ago where John Sheppard got retrograde amnesia while on an off-world mission, then proceeded to decide that the best way to deal was to hide it from everyone. Like you do. Naturally, this got me thinking about how Bucky would handle getting amnesia (again). It hit me--pun intended--that depending on how much he'd forgotten, _he might not even realize anything was wrong_.
> 
> (For those who are interested, the _Stargate: Atlantis_ story is [Amnesiac](http://archiveofourown.org/works/122462) by Speranza. Many thanks to [quietnight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quietnight/pseuds/quietnight) for the information!)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Links to References in the Fic:
> 
> [I've Always Been Yours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2780930) (Where Bucky comes home and gets his original box of things, as well as the Ridiculous Moose Hoodie.)  
> [Lonely Dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3202856) (Where Tony makes Bucky the box for his things.)  
> [An Everyday Kindness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3334646) (The first occurrence of the Nightmare Paint.)  
> [As Big and Bright as the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3707173) (Where Bucky gets Rodney McKay's Friendship Bracelet.)  
> [We're All Stupid When We're Hurting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4907305) (The origin story for the quote Natasha says and the alien maggots.)
> 
> [Ötzi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%96tzi)  
> [The Winter's Tale](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Winter%27s_Tale) (Where 'Exit, pursued by a bear' comes from.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Whew! If you're not sick of links yet, [come find me on Tumblr!](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/)


End file.
